The Fourth, The Fifth
by admiral-cain
Summary: It only took a single moment to change everything.
1. Part One

**The Fourth, The Fifth**

**Part One**

It only took a single moment to change everything.

Santana Lopez had never been one to think about her life. It was easy to fall into a rhythm, to let the days pass by without giving a second thought to what might happen. It was easy to pretend that she was always going to be at McKinley High, head of the Cheerios, ruling the school. It was easy to pretend that she had all the time in the world.

It was easy to pretend, until the moment the SUV drifted across the center line going far too fast, the same moment that she was too busy struggling to dial Brittany's number to notice the headlights until they were shining directly in her face. She barely had time to register what was happening before impact.

"Fuck!"

She lurched forward, the seatbelt digging abruptly into her neck as the sound of metal on metal and shattering glass filled her ears. Her chest erupted in pain, brief and intense, before her head slammed against something hard and everything went black.

The smell of smoke was the first thing she noticed when she came to. The second was the pain, which forced her eyes open the moment she tried to move her arms. A tiny gasp snuck past her lips before she bit down hard on her tongue, trying to unbuckle her seatbelt. Her entire front end was compacted, pinning her tightly against her seat with a combination of twisted metal, plastic, and glass. Every time she moved the pain only worsened, until she finally hit the button to release her seatbelt. One barrier to being free was gone.

With a whimper, Santana gripped on to whatever she could, using her hands and feet to push her as hard as she could towards the open driver's side door. There was a vague sharpness against her abdomen, but the feeling was overwhelmed by panic as it bloomed in her chest. A blur of strained wriggling and a final push was what managed to free her from the demolished inside of the car, sending her crashing to the concrete.

All she could do was lay there, the safety glass poking sharply against her skin, chest heaving in and out as she tried to catch her breath. All that greeted her was the sound of her own heartbeat echoing loudly in her ears, deafening. It was like every last muscle in her body was shaking of its own volition, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. All she could do was lay there and wait until sirens approached.

Santana couldn't focus on the EMT's as they rushed out of the ambulance, not even when their hands and eyes seemed to be everywhere, examining her. They had her on a gurney faster than she could process, and she was heaved into the back of the truck. Straps were pulled tight around her, bright lights blinding in comparison to the darkness she'd been blanketed in outside, forcing her eyes shut.

Once she did, there was no going back. She was just so exhausted, like every last bit of her energy had bled out against the pavement. She couldn't even find it in her to open her eyes again, to brave the painful lights or the concerned looks. She just kept her eyes shut and let herself drift, the sirens and voices slowly fading away until all she could hear was a whisper.

"_Wake up."_

* * *

When Santana woke, it was once again to blinding lights and the beeping of machines. She immediately shut her eyes again, not wanting to face the impossible task of adjusting to the brightness just yet. What the fuck happened? She had just been driving over to Brittany's house after dinner, like she always did. One minute, she'd been trying to send a text to the blonde to let her know that she was on her way, and the next she'd had headlights in her face.

"Fuck…" She barely recognized her own voice, it was like someone had taken sandpaper to her throat. God, this was so dumb. If she'd just been paying attention, maybe she could have avoided that fucking SUV and she wouldn't be in this mess.

"San…?" A familiar voice sounded meekly from Santana's right, forcing her eyes open once more. It took a hand to shield some of the light and a moment of blinking for everything to stop being blurry, but Brittany's form slowly came into view from a chair against the wall. As soon as the blonde realized she was awake, she was up and out of her chair in an instant, striding over to the bed and grabbing the hand that wasn't preoccupied with IVs and monitors.

"Hey, Britt." Santana managed, lips painfully cracked. Speaking hurt like hell all over, so did breathing for that matter, but it was Brittany. She had never been able to deny the girl anything.

"I got really worried when you didn't come over to my house last night." Guilt began to pour into her gut when she noticed her friend's red, puffy eyes, like she had been crying all night. Knowing her, she probably had. "It got really late, so I called your mom and dad and they said you were in an accident and were in the hospital so I made my mom bring me here."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm not mad. I was just scared."

"You don't have to be, I think I'm okay." With her free hand, Santana checked beneath the thin hospital blanket, finding a large section of her abdomen covered with secured gauze. Vaguely, she could remember getting cut, at least the pain of it. Gently, Brittany squeezed her hand, forcing Santana's gaze back up to meet her baby blues.

"I'm glad you didn't die."

Santana didn't know what to say.

* * *

Before too long, Brittany was forced out and her parents filed in, followed closely by a doctor. The look of relief on their faces only added to the guilty, which sank low in her gut. This was ridiculous, she didn't even know why she felt so guilty, besides making herself unable to avoid the oncoming car. What the hell had actually happened, anyway? What she could remember felt like a dream. Bits and pieces were missing entirely. Hell, she didn't even know what had happened to her physically to land her in the hospital. Luckily, the question was answered without her even having to ask.

"Santana, you were in a bad car accident last night. A drunk driver drifted across the center line and hit you head on. You were really lucky to escape with only a few cuts and bruises. The worst is on your stomach, which it seems you got from pulling yourself out of the car. It needed stitches, so we're going to have to ask you to take it easy for a while. You're going to be sore for a while, and you probably won't heal up for a few weeks at least. For as bad as your crash was, your state right now is a miracle." Santana just stared at the doctor as he spoke. The crash wasn't her fault, and she'd managed to walk away from it with nothing but a few minor injuries. She wanted to be thankful, but she couldn't.

Quietly, she murmured a thank-you to the doctor before he left the room, leaving her alone with her parents. For the longest time, they just stared, making Santana squirm. She always hated it when people stared at her for too long, especially like this. She couldn't tell if they were going to yell at her for not paying enough attention or if they were going to break down into thankful tears. Neither happened, and she wasn't really surprised.

"How are you feeling, mija?" Her mom sounded tired, like they had been up all night. They probably had.

"Sore, and really tired, but I'm okay." Santana even managed a tiny smile, just for them. "Are you mad at me?"

"Why would we be mad?" Santana just shrugged. "We're just so thankful that you're okay, Santana. I don't know about your mami, but there's really nothing else I could feel right now except for thankfulness."

Santana nodded, allowing her mind to drift when she realized that her parents were content to simply be in the room with her, knowing that she was awake. Maybe it just reassured them that she was really going to be alright, she didn't know, but it was nice to have a moment to think.

It had been a terrible accident, that much she'd pulled from both what the doctor had said and how her parents were acting. How the fuck had she walked away from it with nothing but a deep cut and some bruises? Was everyone just overreacting? She doubted it. While her parents were the type to, she didn't think that the doctor would over exaggerate something like this. The only question she could think to gauge the severity of the situation was a blunt one, but she'd never been known for her tact.

"Papi, what happened to the other guy?"

There was a long pause where her father was silent, his dark eyes shifting from the floor to her and back again.

"He died."

* * *

It was only one more night. Just one more night alone before she could go home and sleep in her own bed and watch something other than horrible soap operas and court TV. It would all go away when she had other things to think about, school, Glee, Cheerios. She just had to make it through one more night alone with nothing but her thoughts.

It was all just so overwhelming, her feelings, curiosities, everything washed over her and she had no idea where to even begin. She had been messing with her phone, then headlights, then the crash, blackness, pulling herself out of the car and then the ambulance. Everything was just too foggy to actually remember anything worth focusing on, but she just couldn't stop.

Phone, headlights, crash, blackness.

There was definitely a part she just couldn't remember. A whole chuck of time where she was pretty sure she was unconscious. The doctor hadn't mentioned any head injuries. Maybe it wasn't important? Still, she couldn't even feel a bruise. Shouldn't she feel a bruise if she'd hit her head hard enough to be knocked unconscious? It just didn't feel right.

All she could remember, and she wasn't sure 'remember' was the right word, was a whisper. It was so impossibly quiet and so hazy that she wasn't sure if it had happened at all. It wasn't anything fantastic, it was just a voice, a girl's voice, whispering a command that she had obeyed.

"_Wake up."_

It played over and over again in Santana's head as she tried to sleep, and it didn't even bring her any closer to figuring out what the hell it meant. Even if she had made it up, where the fuck did something like that come from? It didn't make sense.

She ended up staying awake for most of the night.

* * *

"I think it's a good thing you weren't at school today." Brittany shattered the calm silence in the sudden way that she usually did, and for the first time in their friendship, Santana jumped. Brittany didn't seem to notice, so she just ignored the sudden rush of adrenaline and tried to regard her with the same hint of amusement that she always did.

"How come? Did something happen?"

"Not really, you just would've punched Puck and I don't think fighting's good for your stitches." It was like she thought that that completely clarified the situation. In her mind, it probably did, but Santana wasn't following.

"What did Puck do now?"

"He was being a jerk to Quinn again. I know you hate it when he does that to her."

Santana pushed back the flare of anger as quickly as it came. It wouldn't do any good for her to lose her temper over something she couldn't even do anything about, at least not now, and it certainly wouldn't help her recover when stacked on top of the persistent feeling that something was wrong. The doctors had said that she might be emotional for a while, post traumatic stress or something like that, but it just didn't feel like it. It wasn't like she was having flashbacks or anything like that, something just felt off. It bothered her, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out where the hell the feeling stemmed from. Like an itch she couldn't scratch. Under normal circumstances, she would be content to just give up and let go of the whole situation, but she just couldn't. Not when it felt like the feeling was getting worse. It didn't help that it was keeping her on edge, making her go from zero to enraged even faster than usual.

"I wouldn't have punched him." It was almost like she had to force the words out. "Remember how I said I can't do that shit for Quinn anymore? I really can't. I would have waited until he did something else petty and stupid and I would have punched him twice as hard. But it wouldn't have been today."

Brittany giggled slightly, making Santana's eyes narrow. It wasn't exactly a laughing matter, the whole situation, and the blonde was the only one she'd ever explained everything to. It wasn't like she could forget exactly how terrifying the whole thing had been for her. How terrifying it still was, sometimes.

"I dunno why you're such a scaredy cat about it. It's not like Quinn will know just cause you do nice stuff for her. She'll just think you're being a good friend." Santana sighed softly, setting down the magazine she'd been reading.

"I can't be her friend, Britt, we've gone over this."

"You won't be her friend cause you're scared you'll kiss her again, I know." Brittany caught her gaze, an uncharacteristic seriousness painted on her face. It was the look she only gave her when they talked about Quinn, and it almost made Santana feel sick. As sick as she did that night, when she turned up on Brittany's porch, soaked by summer rain. At least it hid the tears. "Quinn isn't dumb. She probably already knows you like her, anyway."

"Don't say that." Adrenaline pumped through her veins again, feeling of fear not helped by the fact that she was constantly on edge. She just wanted to run and hide and never face Quinn fucking Fabray ever again.

It was Brittany's turn to shrug, substituting it for the end of the conversation. Their silence was a lot more uncomfortable than usual. Santana was overwhelmed by her own thoughts, again, while she knew that Brittany was thinking she was acting stupid and childish. Maybe it was stupid and childish, but she couldn't help that she was scared out of her mind about the whole thing. She always had been.

It had been a year since she'd decided that she and Quinn couldn't be friends, for both of their sakes.

* * *

_They were fifteen and drunk, giggling uncontrollably as they left some jock's party, stumbling back towards Santana's thankfully empty house. Quinn had managed to snake her arm around Santana's waist, using it to keep from falling over, and she could barely focus on anything other than how pleasant the warmth was against her side. She just couldn't stop grinning, the alcohol-induced warmth hiding a blush that certainly would have graced her cheeks had she been sober. Quinn never failed to tease her about it, especially when they were alone. It was easy to act like she hated it, like she did with everything, but she honestly like the attention. She knew Quinn knew, and she couldn't help but wonder if that was why the girl kept on teasing her. When it came to Quinn and Brittany, she didn't even care that they both managed to see through her façade. As far as she could tell, they were the only ones. It needed to stay that way._

_Even though it was uncomfortable, she couldn't stop herself from letting her guard down around her best friends. She let them see bits and pieces of her that she didn't dare share with anyone else. In a lot of ways, she'd cherished it. It wasn't like she got to be open very often, and it felt nice to feel so close to someone. It was the only reason she let Quinn fall completely into her arms when she tripped on the front step. _

"_God, you're terrible at holding your liquor." Santana mumbled against Quinn's hair, her arms wrapped tightly around the blonde in a valiant effort to keep them both upright as she giggled into her chest. Forcing the key into the lock was a difficult task when she was both drunk and supporting almost all of Quinn's weight, especially when the girl did absolutely nothing to help her efforts to get inside of her house. Finally, the key turned, nearly sending them tumbling to the ground. Quinn managed to stand on her own as Santana locked the door behind them. _

"_I think we should definitely lie down." Santana followed her unsteady steps up the stairs and along the familiar path to her room. They kicked off their shoes as soon as they crossed the threshold, and Quinn flopped down face-first on the bed. _

"_I'm pretty sure I've never had so much fun at a party." Her words were muffled by the comforter, but Santana still managed to decipher them, crawling under the covers on the opposite side of the bed as best she could with Quinn on top of them. _

"_Just admit that it's because I was there, because we both know that's the reason." Quinn giggled as she struggled beneath the covers and rolled over, their arms pressed together._

"_You're kind of an arrogant bitch, you know that?"_

"_Yep. And alcohol makes you mouthy." Quinn slapped her lightly, making her laugh, which in turn made the blonde roll to face Santana._

"_You're not supposed to laugh when someone hits you!" Santana shrugged, turning to face her friend, who still managed to look gorgeous even when she was barely illuminated by the light coming in through her window. It was enough to spark the fire, the one she always managed to quell when she was sober but just couldn't seem to force away when drunk. It was want and need, two things she was pretty familiar with, coupled with something else._

_It was probably love. Deep down, she knew it, but it was easy to force away. Easier. If you don't acknowledge something, it will go away eventually. It had to. Despite all her efforts, her body still didn't have the same idea as her mind._

"_It's just because your hitting is super adorable. I can't help it." Santana wasn't sure when their faces got that close, so close that their noses were nearly brushing. Her breath hitched as Quinn fell quiet, like she was trying to figure out what to do. She could feel the pull, how easy it would be to move just a few inches forward and close the gap, and from the way Quinn caught her gaze she could tell that she felt it, too. _

_In a blur of motion, Quinn's lips were attached to her own, kissing her with such ferocity that Santana was momentarily thrown off. Their lips moved in a rhythm, like their bodies knew exactly what to do, even if they'd never done this before. It wasn't like she'd never made out with someone, she had, but it had never felt like this. There had never been such a fire, one that sent warmth from her head to her toes. It was so much to take in, the feeling of Quinn's fingers in her hair and her smooth skin beneath her fingertips. She gasped as Quinn's lips found their way to the shell of her ear, doing nothing to quell the burning._

_It was easy for Santana to lose track of time, to forget just how long they'd been doing this. Just kissing, languidly, a dance of lips and tongues and skin that she couldn't fully comprehend. If she was being honest, she never wanted it to end. It just seemed so perfect. Too perfect._

_As the sun rose above the horizon and Santana woke with Quinn's arm around her waist and her body pressed tightly against her back, she realized that she couldn't stop her heart from beating wildly in her chest. She couldn't control herself._

_She couldn't let that happen again._

* * *

Despite her parents' convictions, Santana went back to school three days after the accident. She was tired of sitting around and doing nothing, especially when she knew people were talking about what happened to her. She wasn't going to let her whole reputation go to shit by not coming back as soon as possible. It wasn't like she wasn't affected by the accident, she was, but she'd never let anyone know. Pretending not to care was kind of her thing, and she'd worked hard for that. She wasn't going to throw that away, even if all she wanted to do was talk to Glee club about how weird she'd been feeling, how she got a sick feeling in her gut every time she tried to remember what exactly had happened that day.

It was like she wasn't supposed to have the answers, and that pissed her off more than anything else. She was Santana fucking Lopez, she always got what she wanted, especially when she wanted it this bad. It was infuriating, but at least it made it easy to put on her bitch face the minute she walked through the double doors.

The satisfaction in knowing that she still terrified the whole school was enough to carry her through the day. Her thoughts stole her attention, so much so that she didn't even realize that she'd come to the choir room fifteen minutes early rather than five minutes late. By the time she realized it, it was too late to go back. The only people in the room were Rachel and Finn, both practicing their vocals, while Quinn sat alone in one of the chairs. It wasn't unusual for her to look sad lately, ever since Jacob Ben Israel released the truth of her condition. Every time she saw that look, it never failed to remind her of when Quinn demanded to know why she just suddenly stopped talking to her.

As always, there was a tiny sliver of Santana that ached every time she saw those mournful eyes. And, as always, she forced it away.

Quinn shot up and out of her seat faster than Santana thought a pregnant girl could move, making lengthy strides towards her. It was as intimidating as always, and she wasn't quite sure if she was going to get slapped across the face or not. All it did was leave her even more unprepared for the tight hug Quinn pulled her in to. Shock kept her frozen, arms awkwardly at her sides while Quinn squeezed the hell out of her. It was the most contact they'd had in a year, outside of Cheerios practice, and it certainly wasn't helping the giant pile of confusion already muddling her mind. It seemed to take forever for Quinn to release her, and the moment she did Santana took a quick step back.

"Brittany told me what happened. I'm so glad you're okay."

Just like that, Quinn shattered the unspoken rule that they'd built. Don't acknowledge your feelings, and certainly don't voice them. Santana had given her no reason to continue to care for her, but still, it seemed she did.

Santana couldn't say she still cared, she wouldn't. Not when she couldn't even figure out if she was happy to be alive.

* * *

It was a week after the accident when the dreams started.

At first, she figured it was just her subconscious trying to sort things out, that her dreams were super weird because of all the stress. It kind of freaked her out, but that was normal, right? They were always so disjointed that she could barely pull any meaning from them, so she did her best to brush them aside. It became clear after the first few restless nights that they weren't going to give her any straight answers.

When she began having dreams every single night, dreams that she could always recall with startling clarity, she began to really worry. Her dreams had never been vivid, not like this. She could remember the feeling of soft grass against her skin, the weight of arms around her, the smell of a particular perfume, and they haunted her well into the day.

It was both distracting and unnerving, but it wasn't like she could tell anyone about it. What could she possibly say? That she'd been having weird feelings about everything since the accident, and now she was having creepily vivid dreams every night? They would just write it off as something normal, like post-traumatic stress, and that would be more frustrating than keeping mum.

It wasn't normal, she knew it wasn't.

* * *

Every time Puck opened his fucking smug mouth, Santana wanted to punch him in the face. It was like he was a child incapable of critical thinking, like he couldn't focus long enough on anyone else other than himself to realize the consequences of his actions. He was just walking all over Quinn, again, refusing to step up to the plate and actually do something. Quinn had every right to call him on his attitude, but he always acted like she was being ridiculous.

She wasn't.

Fucking Puck and his inability to be a good person for once in his life. He couldn't even manage to pull it together long enough to get a real damn job and take care of his kid and the girl he'd knocked up. Sure, it wasn't like they loved each other or were devoted or anything, but it was the decent thing to do to help her out. Still, he refused, and acted like he had the right to. If she wasn't so fucking pissed she would've realized just how hypocritical she was being, but it wasn't like she would've apologized to Puck for thinking he was a stupid ass.

After all, she was angry enough to break her cardinal rule. She walked over to her as Puck left the room, turning his back on her for the millionth time.

"Sorry he's an asshole." It wasn't elegant or deep like it probably should've been, for the first time they'd talked in a long time, but she didn't really care. There was no graceful way to launch into it. She was a Lopez, anyway, so she just threw herself into the deep end and hoped she wouldn't drown.

"Whatever. What else could I really expect from the _Puckasaurus_?" The disdain nearly made Santana chuckle, and in her attempt to hold it back, her face contorted into a grimace.

"You deserve better." The look of shock on Quinn's face made it almost worth the momentary lapse in mental filter. At least until her self-preservation kicked into high gear and forced her mouth shut. Thankfully, Quinn didn't reply, her mouth opening and closing like she didn't really know what to say. It was hard enough to force her pulse to stop racing wildly and to focus on breathing, she couldn't deal with awkward conversation on top of it.

That was exactly what the whole exchange was: awkward. Painfully so, but still, she couldn't make herself regret it.

* * *

Two weeks and Santana still couldn't shake the idea that something was wrong with the whole situation. She mentioned it once to her dad, but just like the doctors, he brushed it off. Post-traumatic stress, he'd said. She was just pushing herself too much, going too hard too soon. After all, the other driver had died. She was just overwhelmed.

Santana knew it wasn't that, she knew, but she shrugged the feelings away and continued with her life the best she could. What other choice did she have?

* * *

It's a woman that haunts her more than anything else.

The dreams aren't even eventful. It's always just simple things, like cooking breakfast, or cuddling, nothing serious. But still, Santana just can't get her out of her head. In particular, there was an image that stuck with her of the woman lying in bed next to her, the morning sun spilling brightly onto her skin. She was like a fucking crazy person, because once she saw that image behind her eyes, she concentrate on anything. It was like she was being slowly consumed, drowned by the hand of someone she didn't know.

She knows exactly what the feeling is, the burning need seeded deep in her chest, but she wasn't going to say it. It was a goddamn dream.. It would never be real, and it was ridiculous for her to feel such a strong sense of loss every time she woke up. It didn't make sense.

She'd never even seen the woman's face.

Fuck, she'd even decided a long time ago that love wasn't meant for her. It only complicated things and made her feel terrible, like she was a piece of shit person who didn't deserve to have people close to her. Love had never made her happy before. Not until the fucking dreams started. Maybe that was why it felt so wrong? She definitely wasn't meant to fall in love, not like fucking romance novels. It just wasn't her.

* * *

_Hearing a contented sigh from the other side of the bed, Santana rolled over, her lips automatically curling into a smile. She was met with an exposed back, the pale, smooth flesh ungodly enticing. Gently, she placed a kiss to the woman's shoulder blade, mumbling against her skin._

"_Good morning, baby…"_

* * *

She was starting to get royally pissed. It didn't matter how much she exhausted herself, or how void she tried to make her mind before she fell asleep, she always ended up having a goddamn dream. The only comfort she had was that they stopped being all about that fucking woman.

Every dream with littered with people and places she didn't know, but she was supposed to. It was like being in a persistent moment of déjà vu. They weren't even scary, or unsettling. Most of the time, they were so goddamn happy that Santana couldn't take it. It was just unnatural for her to be that happy, even in dreams, and it felt even more wrong for her to revel in the feeling. She found herself wishing that she would never wake up, creeping in between her racing thoughts, making her sick to her stomach. It was like her subconscious believed that her dreams were a step up from the mental hell she faced every day. Hell, maybe they were, and the fact that she thought that was the problem.

"This fucking sucks…" She muttered to herself, rolling out of bed and heading to the shower to try and wash away the sick feeling in her stomach, to cleanse her mind. It never worked, but at least it made her feel a little bit better. Even Brittany had been no help in cheering her up.

"Why are good dreams making you so sad? I mean, if they're good, shouldn't you feel good too?" Santana just sighed at her friend's response. That was exactly the problem, she _couldn't_ feel good. It was like she was missing a huge puzzle piece that was right in front of her face. Nothing had ever made her feel so inferior before. Fuck, if she couldn't even figure out what the hell was going on with her, how could she do anything else?

* * *

Santana didn't really know what her parents expected, if they thought that she would open up to a total stranger just because she was feeling bad and wouldn't tell them why. If trying to talk it out with her closest friend didn't work, how would telling some therapist help? It didn't matter how well educated he was, he was never going to know her better than she did.

"So, your parents mentioned that you were in a very bad car accident a few weeks ago, and since then you haven't been talking to them." His tone was enough to irritate Santana right off the bat, and she crossed her arms tightly against her chest.

"I know they're worried, but I'm fine. I just haven't really felt like talking lately."

"The other driver in the accident, he died, right?" Santana nodded. "Do you think you might feel guilty for what happened?"

"No. It wasn't my fault. He was drunk and he hit me. Why would I feel guilty about that?"

"Alright. Your parents also mentioned that you haven't really been sleeping since the accident."

"I have bad dreams." She wasn't really quite sure where along the line she decided to be truthful, but it was already out in the open and there was no taking it back.

"About the accident?"

"No."

"Well, do you mind me asking what they're about?"

"People I don't know, but I know they're my friends. Places I don't know, but I know I live there. They all just make me feel sick and it's pissing me off. When I get angry, I don't talk much. There you go, problem solved."

"Santana, I don't think that's really the heart of the issue. Did you have these dreams before the accident?"

"No."

"So, do you have any idea why you might be having them?"

"If I did, they wouldn't be pissing me off so much, and I wouldn't be here paying you to be completely useless."

That one seemed to get to him, and he faltered. It took fifteen minutes of his questioning for her to finally get sick of listening to his condescending voice.

"Okay, listen. My parents wanted me to come here because they thought it would help, and obviously this isn't doing shit, so I'm going to go waste my time somewhere else." With that, she stood, turning and walking out of the room without listening to his protests. The minute she was outside, she reached into her pocket for her phone, following the familiar path to Brittany's number.

For a moment, she couldn't help but go back to right before the accident, when she'd been doing the same thing. It was the reason why she hadn't been able to swerve out of his path. It was the reason he'd died. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she willed the thoughts away as the dial tone echoed in her ear. Finally, Brittany picked up, greeting her as cheerily as she always did.

"Hey, wanna hang out?"

* * *

_Santana grinned softly, capturing her attention. She couldn't quite make out her face. It was like there was a fog over it, one that was keeping her from remembering._

"_I love you." It was nearly lost in the chatter echoing in the small bar, but she could tell the woman heard her. Their kiss was quick, chaste, but Santana still felt her heart swell._

* * *

Why had this happened to her, out of everyone? There were plenty of other people on the road, plenty of other inattentive drivers. So many chances for things to turn out differently. Why did it happen to her?

It had been a long time since she'd believed in God, since she was eleven and refused to go to Church. It took a while, but eventually her parents stopped trying to make her. She didn't believe in fate, or predetermination. There was just chance, which meant that a million different events needed to turn out just right for this to happen to her. One little change, and everything would have been different.

She didn't believe in God, but she couldn't stop thinking that this was some sort of sign. Part of her wanted to scoff, to blow it off as some freak accident and leave it at that, but she just couldn't drop it. What if it was? What if it was supposed to be a wake-up call, that all these dreams and all her guilt were meant to push her to something? Something better?

She'd never been a good person. Selfishness was the way to push her forward, to push through the ranks. She never really thought about other people, not in the long run. Maybe the disgust she'd felt since the accident, the way she always felt sick to her stomach, meant something.

The accident was kind of pointless, if it was supposed to be a wake-up call. She'd always known that she was bad news. She was like a bull in a china shop, she destroyed everything around her. She used people to her advantage, and then threw them away when they stopped being useful.

She was never a good person, not really.

It had never made her sick to her stomach before. In fact, she'd always kind of been proud of her skill in manipulation. Her ability to not become attached to anyone or anything. Of course, a lot of it was just fueled by her reputation, but she was proud of the fact that she'd managed to build that, too. She'd created Santana Lopez, molding her into exactly what she'd always wanted to be.

Untouchable.

Badass.

Perfect.

She wasn't any of those things, not really, but there was no way in hell that she was going to let people know that. The real Santana was vulnerable and emotional and _weak_.

Santana Lopez was nothing like that. She was a bitch, not afraid to go after a person's biggest weaknesses. She channeled her anger into physical fury, forcing the school into submission with her tongue and her fists. She was perfect at everything Santana was not.

Nausea settled deep in her stomach, making her dizzy, and she suddenly felt like crying.

Santana Lopez was a monster, a monster that she'd created on purpose.

It was repulsive.

* * *

Its three weeks later when a seed plants in Santana's head.

She was just laying on her bed, staring blankly out the window, music softly disturbing the silence. For the hundredth time, she was reprocessing the situation, looking for a detail she might've missed, anything that would explain why she was feeling the way she was.

Anything that would explain why she lived when he didn't.

Cell phone, crash, blackout. Blackout was where she always got stuck, where something nagged at her and just wouldn't stop. She could barely remember what had happened. Had she hit her head? She must've, she could vaguely remember pain right before she blacked out.

When she woke up, her head didn't hurt at all. Everything else did, but she'd been trapped between her seat and the steering column. She'd hit her head, she knew she did, but there was absolutely no head pain. Her parents had mentioned that they'd run all kinds of tests to make sure that there was no internal bleeding and no brain injury. They'd all come back clear.

Santana cradled her head in her hands, eyes shut, focusing everything she had on trying to remember. She'd pulled out her phone and started to pull up Brittany's number to let her know that she was coming over, the headlights got her attention, the SUV slammed into driver's side of the front of her car.

She'd screamed, chest pain, head pain, nothing. There was no way she could've hit her head that hard with no injuries. The one time she got a concussion from Cheerios didn't even hurt as bad as that. Something fucking happened, and she just couldn't remember it.

"Fuck." She threw herself back on the bed, covering her eyes with her hand, trying to focus on the moment that she'd blacked out. Maybe she'd had a crazy-people dream, like the ones she'd been having since the accident. Maybe hitting her head had even triggered them. It made sense, but nothing really came to mind. The unconsciousness only lasted what felt like a second, no dreams, nothing. She sighed.

The other guy was dead when the paramedics got there. He'd been drunk, and he was driving an SUV, things that should have given him a leg up. He shouldn't have died, not if she lived, sober and in her tiny Jetta. They'd both been wearing their seatbelts, both been going fast, too fast, and they'd hit each other head on. If he died, she should've died, too. There was no logical reason for her to be alive.

And, just like that, the idea sunk its claws in.

Maybe she'd died.

The minute she thought of it, she wanted to forget.


	2. Part Two

**The Fourth, The Fifth**

**Part Two**

Was this hell?

Was she doomed to see images of the life she could've had if she hadn't been so fucking stupid?

It was a really fucking fitting torture, to tease her with something she could never have. Feelings she'd never get to explore. Letting her almost have something just to pull it away again, night after night, all the while making her think that she was still alive. Not even _she_ could think of something so fucked up to do to a person, and that was probably the reasoning. She'd been such a raging bitch in life that death had to be ten times crueler. She couldn't muster the courage to laugh at the irony.

Santana tried not to sleep, but there was only so long she could hold out.

* * *

It was hard for her to look at people anymore, like they would be able to see through her bravado instantly. Like they'd realize something was horrible, horribly wrong. She didn't even want them to suspect, didn't want to show any weakness. She wanted to keep up the superiority, keep her reputation intact. Despite all her work, the members of New Directions still looked at her with concern when they thought she wouldn't see. It scared her.

She realized quickly that she had to be extra careful around Brittany and Quinn. They always managed to see right through her no matter how hard she tried. It would all be over the minute they looked her in the eye. They'd see the panic, the fear, the hopelessness and the confusion. Everything that swirled inside of her constantly would be on display, and she would be vulnerable. She didn't even know if she could trust them. God dammit, she couldn't even figure out if she was crazy or not. Was she crazy?

God, she hoped she was crazy.

She really didn't want to be dead.

* * *

_It was when she could feel the woman's gaze, hot and heavy against her back, that a different type of warmth stirred inside her. Something she'd never felt before. Not like this. She would lay a gentle hand on top of her own and kiss her neck with purpose. It made her feel like she was wanted. _

_Needed, even. _

_It made her not want to wake up._

* * *

It was a sign.

It had to be a sign.

What the hell else could it be? Santana just couldn't fucking figure it out. There was no goddamn reason for her to walk away from that accident with nothing but a cut if it wasn't meant to enlighten her. She was pretty sure she'd fucking _died_ and then came back, or she was sent to hell. Either way, she was convinced that she was meant to learn something. To atone for all the terrible things she'd done, for the people she'd lied to, used, and hurt. She had to do something.

The thought of changing scared her more than anything else. She'd always been bad, but it was what she was good at. It was one of the only things she was good at. It didn't seem right that she could just go back now, not after everything she'd done. Not when she'd worked so hard. Still, there was that part of her that wouldn't stop nagging. That wanted her to do something drastic.

Santana wasn't sure what was crazier, the fact that she was having the urge to double back on all of her hard work or the fact that she was actually going to do it.

Like always, she planned it out first, struggling to figure out how the hell she was going to do this. It took hours of floundering in her thoughts to come up with had to be one of her most simple plans ever.

Be nicer to people.

She could do that, she was pretty sure she could. As always, there was the tiny voice telling her to run away fast, to hide beneath the surface, but she refused to listen to it. She wanted to do this.

She needed to do this.

* * *

It started with Kurt.

He was getting harassed by Karofsky and Azimio, just like every other morning, except this time her usual twinge of guilt was replaced by a tidal wave of anger that she channeled into looking as scary as possible. Kurt noticed her stalking towards them first, and his look of annoyance and frustration was replaced by a mild fear that still managed to boost her ego. To think that she could inspire fear with her demeanor alone was kind of impressive, but it wasn't Kurt she was trying to intimidate.

"Hey, douchebags!" That got their attention.

"Mind your own business, Lopez." Karofsky bit, while Azimio gave her an amused look.

"We're just talking to Hummel, nothing for you to get your panties in a twist."

"Well, you're done talking to him." She stepped between Kurt and the jocks, getting close enough to Karofsky that they were nearly touching, her arms crossed tight against her chest. "And if I ever see you talk to him again, I will take your balls and feed them to my dog."

Karofsky snorted, stroking Santana's fury. She could feel it, the emergence of her old self, the unbridled temper. At least she wasn't crying and actually channeling her feelings towards something decent. She cocked her head, ever so slightly, her jaw clenched tight as Karofsky opened his mouth.

"You really expect us to be afraid of you?" His eyes traveled her up and down, almost making her sick to her stomach, before he began chuckling. "I'm not fucking stupid, I know you can't do shit."

"Are you willing to bet your manhood on it?" Santana smiled sweetly, too sweetly, leaning in towards him. "Maybe you should take a second to remember Jared." He'd called Brittany a slut, and Santana had made sure that he'd got the shit kicked out of him for it. He'd never shown his face again, much to her delight. The momentary look of horror was all it took for her to see that the jocks understood. "Now it's time for you to back the fuck up and go suck each other's dicks or whatever it is you do instead of going to class."

For once in their lives, the pair listened, turning and walking away with their tails between their legs. Santana couldn't help but smirk a little bit. Sure, she'd created a monster, but if she used what she created for good that had to be better than before, right? It had to be, because she could feel a little warmth in her chest at the triumph.

Sure, Kurt was looking at her like she'd been abducted and replaced by an alien, but whatever. It was worth it.

* * *

Next, she called off the slushies. It was even easier than dealing with Karofsky and Azimio, since all it took was an angry look, an order and a simple threat to bodily harm to get everyone to comply without question. Especially since she and Quinn had been the ones to start the slushie war in the first place.

To the Glee club, it was just like the slushies had suddenly stopped one day, for no particular reason. They waited for the big attack, the thing that their tormentors were obviously just taking the time to plan, but nothing ever came. Santana eventually got sick of them walking around with raincoats on, especially when she knew that no one was going to defy her. It was before Glee club when she finally snapped.

"Jesus Christ, will you all just stop wearing the fucking raincoats? You all look like idiots." They just gaped at her, like she was stupid for not understanding why they had been wearing them every day for the last week. "No one's going to fucking slushie you, alright?"

"They've stopped like this before, Santana, and all it leads to is a much bigger and more coordinated attack! I would know." Rachel ran her mouth, like she often did, and Santana nearly hurled an insult at her before she remembered that she was trying to be nice to people.

"I told them to stop, okay? None of them are dumb enough to try it, so you're safe."

"Why would you do that?" Kurt asked, giving her the same look he'd given her when she'd saved him from Karofsky and Azimio.

"Because it's a damn shame wasting a delicious drink. And I've always thought it was kind of pointless."

Okay, she wasn't quite ready to admit that she was trying to be nice. It just didn't seem right. Not when the last person she'd even admitted bearing that particular weakness towards was Quinn. It just didn't seem right to admit it to Glee club before she admitted it to her, and she just wasn't ready. Not yet.

As she turned on her heel and walked out of the choir room, she could hear them already beginning to whisper about her. Trying to figure out what was wrong, why she would possibly to that. Why she would be nice. She didn't blame them for thinking that she had an alternative motive, she'd always had one before, it just kind of sucked to know that they were probably talking shit.

Oh well, she kind of deserved it. It wasn't like she hadn't been a bitch to all of them at some point. One day, she'd tell them that she was just doing it to be nice.

* * *

_Pick a single word that describes one of your parents and explain why you chose that word._

_The little dark-haired girl read and re-read the prompt, over and over, as time seemed to drag on forever. Her laptop was open on the table in front of her, a blank word document formatted and ready to be written in. Still, the girl did nothing. She just read, and re-read, until it was almost painful to watch. _

_Finally, her hands moved from their place in her lap up to the keyboard, a grin slowly working its way onto her face. It was like she'd just thought of the perfect thing to write._

'_Fearless.'_

* * *

It was easy to write off the first dream about the little girl as a fluke. Something stupid. Another person she was supposed to know but really didn't. Maybe it had to do with her change in behavior? She really didn't know.

It was when the girl kept popping up in almost every dream that she decided it was really fucking creepy.

At least she got to see the girl's face. It would have definitely sent her over the edge if she couldn't, again. Dark hair and dark eyes with a confident smirk that reminded her so much of someone. She was ashamed that it took five whole dreams to realize that she reminded her of herself.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

* * *

She could barely focus on school, anymore. It all seemed so stupid and unimportant when all she could think about were her stupid fucking dreams and the idea that she might have died in the accident. It consumed her. She could barely think about anything else, and when she managed to get off the subject, it always seemed to fall back on Quinn. Her anger at Puck was a nice break from all her other problems, even if it only lasted for a little while. It wasn't exactly relaxing, but she relished in the change, letting her anger fester for longer than was probably healthy. She just couldn't make herself car, not about Puck, especially when he was treating Quinn like shit.

But those thoughts would leave her far too soon, her own questions trapping her once more. She didn't know what any of this meant, what she was supposed to do, or what the hell had even happened. It was all just a jumbled mess.

Santana was certain that there had to be answers somewhere, answers that she just couldn't seem to find.

It frustrated her to no end that she just couldn't seem to stop thinking about it, which only served to irritate her more, a deadly cycle that seemed impossible to break. It didn't help that the only explanation that even seemed plausible to her anymore was one that was definitely fifteen levels of crazy. She wasn't certain about her hypothesis, not by any means, but she found herself wanting to go to the extreme. To end the endless questions and lingering thoughts. To figure out if she was crazy or if this was somehow legitimate.

This had to be one of those bad signs her therapist had mentioned, the kind that meant she should call him immediately.

She wanted to kill herself, but it wasn't because she wanted to die. It was the opposite.

She wanted to see if she would live.

* * *

Her palms are sweaty when she walks up to Quinn, the words tumbling out in a confusing rush. She's surprised that Quinn managed to understand what she said, especially though the look of shock on her face. It wasn't like Santana ever started conversations with her, and she never, ever asked her for anything. This was kind of a big deal.

It was probably the only reason she agreed.

"Of course you can come over. I'm at Finn's now, if you didn't know." Santana nodded quickly, trying to subtly wipe her hands on her skirt.

"Yeah-yeah, I know. Umm, does 4:30 work? My parents will freak if I don't check in first, and I kind of want to change." The thick polyester of the uniform was awfully constricting, squeezing her chest and making it hard to breathe. Maybe that's why she was stumbling over her words so much? She didn't want to attribute it to the obvious, but it felt like she needed an excuse. A reason as to why she just wasn't being herself. Santana Lopez didn't get nervous.

It was hard to care, anymore, and that was almost scarier than anything else.

"Perfect. See you then." Santana stepped aside to let Quinn pass, the familiar vanilla scent of her perfume enough to trigger memories she _really _didn't want to think about. Right now she needed to figure out what the fuck she was going to say. It wasn't like she could just walk up to Quinn and say that she was pretty sure she died in the accident.

"Fuck, this is such a fucking bad idea…" The murmur barely passed her lips as she hurried to her car, struggling to force her keys out of her bag. She knew there were so many ways that this could go wrong, but she just needed to tell someone before she exploded. It wasn't like she could tell Brittany. The girl was a wonderful friend, but she just wouldn't understand. Quinn, as much as she hated to admit it, was the only one who would give her the time of day and that she could trust to keep her mouth shut about it. The last thing she needed was this getting out.

She just needed to talk to someone.

With shaky hands, she drove, forcing away any and all thoughts of the accident just like she always did. Her parents never wanted her to drive again, but she refused. There was no goddamn way she was going to let this get in the way of her life even more than it already had, even if it was horrifying to even sit behind the wheel. She was tough and she pushed through it, which was enough to quell some of her parents' nervousness.

It was like she was running on autopilot. Before she knew it, she was changed and parked in front of Finn's house. She just breathed, slowly, in and out, her hands white-knuckled against the steering wheel. As soon as she got out of the car, there was no turning back. The words would spill out of her as soon as she opened her mouth, and there was no taking them back. There was no playing this off as a joke. A deep exhale accompanied the sound of the driver's side door opening, her heart pounding in time with her footsteps, drowning them out.

She should've expected Quinn to open the door as soon as she knocked, like she had been waiting for her, but she still jumped. Quinn cocked her head, slightly, but didn't mention it. She smiled instead.

It was when she was following her up the stairs that she realized she still hadn't figured out what the fuck she was going to say. Her heart was racing wildly in her chest, but it was getting harder and harder to tell if it was out of nervousness or because the last time they were in a room alone they ended up making out all night. It would be a lie to say that she didn't enjoy it, and it would be an even bigger lie to say that she didn't miss Quinn. This was probably a bad idea all around, but there was no going back now.

"Santana, what's wrong?" Quinn's voice broke her from her thoughts, making her realize that she was just awkwardly standing while Quinn had already taken a seat on her bed. "You're acting really weird." Finally, she sat, leaving quite a bit of space between them. It was better to be safe than sorry.

"Is it that obvious?" God, this whole thing was so awkward. She just wanted to smack herself.

"Not really, I just know you. Brittany actually asked me if I knew what was going on with you, so I guess she noticed too."

"Does anyone else know?"

"No one really knows anything. Britt and I are the only ones worried, everyone else is just weirded out." Quinn shrugged as Santana sharply inhaled, trying to keep from freaking out. She had to tell her, she had to, she couldn't back out after she went through all this trouble. Quinn was already worried, if she freaked out and ran away again she would only worry more. She'd have to tell her eventually.

"I just wanted to be nice."

"You're not nice, ever. At least not at school. That's why it's weird, and why I know something is seriously wrong with you."

"People can change."

"I know, it's just really sudden. And you've been so quiet since the accident. It's kind of scary, actually."

"I…I've just had a lot on my mind." Santana swallowed, hard, forcing back any inclination her body had to cry. If she did she'd never get this out, and Quinn would freak out even more. She could already feel her gaze fixated on her face, looking for any sign of what was wrong, anything she could do to help. It was nearly painful.

"It wasn't your fault, you know." The hypothesis she came up with was, again, completely wrong.

"I know. That's not really what I've been thinking about." Taking a deep breath, she looked up and braved Quinn's gaze. "I just…I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about everything that happened. I relive it over and over and I just can't figure out how to stop. I don't feel guilty, I mean, I'm sorry he died but I know it wasn't really my fault. Something just feels…wrong, you know? Like I'm supposed to find something, remember something that I just can't quite grab."

"It was a bad accident, Ana…" The nickname wasn't lost on Santana, and her gaze faltered enough that she knew Quinn noticed. "I think it's normal to wonder why he died and you didn't. Miracles don't always have explanations. You just have to let it go."

"I don't think it was a miracle, Quinn, that's what I'm trying to say. I think something happened." Quinn's lips were parted, slightly, like she wanted to say something but she couldn't figure out what. "When I manage to get to sleep, I have dreams. Every single night. And they're not about the crash, or anything like that. They're not even sad. They just…they all feel so real, you know? Like it's my life. It's just not normal. I can't focus on anything and it pisses me off so much, but I just can't stop."

Slowly, Quinn reached out, taking her hand and squeezing it. Santana nearly cried again, just from the look she was giving her. After all this time, even after she'd thrown her away like garbage, even after she'd ignored her, she still cared. Cared enough to worry, even. All it did was reinforce the idea that she had been an awful person. That she was an awful person. Her eyes fell to her lap, to their hands, and all she could do was squeeze back while Quinn struggled to find something to say. It was a futile effort, and the silence was deafening as she tried to force the words from the back of her throat.

"I died, Quinn." Even though her eyes were focused downwards, she could feel Quinn's head shoot up at her whispered words. "I died in the accident, I _know_ I did."

"Santana-"

"No, don't even try to tell me it sounds crazy. I know it does. This is all I've been thinking about for months, I know how it sounds. It's the only thing I could come up with."

"You don't have to have an answer for everything, just be thankful that you lived and leave it at that. I know it's hard, but-"

"Quinn." It was enough to make her shut her mouth, focusing intensely on her. "I remember hitting my head really hard and blacking out, and then all I can remember is some girl telling me to wake up. Explain that! I was the only person in the car, and I woke up before anyone got there."

"Maybe you were just dreaming? You said you've been having lots of dreams lately."

"They didn't start until after the accident, and I'm pretty sure the voice I heard is the same girl I've been dreaming about for a while now. It's all really fucking weird, and I don't know what to do about it."

Quinn let go of her hand, instead moving to cup her cheek with a tenderness that Santana didn't expect. It threw her off, making her thoughts stop flowing long enough to rest. She inhaled deeply.

"Whatever you think it is, just let it go. There's nothing you can do about it now, so just focus on the life you've been given and enjoy it." Santana shook her head, eyes misted with tears despite her resistance.

"I can't…I can't let it go."

Quinn looked so worried that she almost couldn't take it.

* * *

_Santana just stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked hollow, broken down. Bruises and cuts marred her chest and arms, the dark bags under her eyes especially prominent. It was what happened when she had so many late nights at work. _

_For the first time since she was a teenager, she looked in the mirror and hated what she saw._

* * *

Santana tried to hold the metal still against her skin, but she couldn't. Her whole body was trembling with fear or with nervous excitement, she couldn't tell which. This whole idea was fucking crazy, completely fucking crazy, but she just couldn't talk herself out of it. She'd already made all the arrangements, waited until her parents were out of the house, stripped the bathroom of everything that could get stained, filled the bathtub with warm water. Christ, she'd even taken her shirt off.

It was insane, but there was no going back now.

Her right hand just wouldn't stop shaking. The razorblade was gripped tightly between her fingers, left hand rigid over the bathtub with her palm upturned. It was like she was exposing herself, making herself vulnerable, her life beating just beneath the skin. All it would take were a few swift cuts and that would be that.

A few cuts, and she'd die.

She wanted to take a deep breath, to calm her nerves, but her lungs refused to comply. Short, pained gasps were all she could manage, squeezing her eyes shut tight, finding refuge from the brightness of the bathroom.

This was so fucking crazy, but she needed answers. She needed to understand why she'd lived when he didn't. She needed to understand why she kept dreaming about the same people, over and over again. She needed to know if she was crazy, or if she really couldn't die. Death would be better than being plagued by loose ends for the rest of her life.

It was terrifying, the thought that she might not wake up. She knew it was part of the human condition, that she would die one day, it was just difficult to comprehend. She could do this and be gone forever. Would anybody even remember her in fifteen, twenty years? Would people even care? She could feel her pulse quicken, the loud droning in her ears unbearable.

She had to do this.

She had to.

All her focus was poured into getting the razorblade to her wrist without stopping herself. It was natural to be afraid of death. It meant she was human. She wasn't going to let fear stop her from doing this, from finding out the truth. Silently, she clenched her hand into a fist, pushing the blade down against her skin.

Before Santana could even register the pain, she was done. Deep cuts adorned both wrists, the water burning against the damaged flesh. She clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached, only a tiny whimper managing to escape. She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that, watching, thinking, pleading. Focusing on how the water turned from clear to crimson.

God, she really didn't want to die.

She was just so tired.

Slowly, she slumped down against the side of the tub, mentally apologizing to her parents for the mess just in case it didn't work out like she hoped. This was the only way to know for sure, she assured herself one last time before she drifted off.

If she had more energy, she would have been surprised at how much it was like going to sleep.

* * *

"_Who is this guy?" It was the same girl, with the dark hair, the one Santana had been seeing for months. _

"_His name is Finn. He was a really great friend, an all around good guy. We actually dated, once, but we figured out that we just work better as friends." That voice was unmistakable. Santana's stomach felt like it did a nauseating flip as her eyes confirmed what her ears already knew. _

_Quinn Fabray. Even older, there was no mistaking her. She had the same intensity in her eyes that she'd had since they were kids. Santana was always envious of her ability to evoke emotion with nothing but her gaze, at least until it started to make her heartbeat quicken and her cheeks flush. Even in this, whatever it was, she felt her breath hitch. When was the last time Quinn had made her feel like this?_

_Every single day, but she'd never admit it._

"_He was best friends with your father for a while, too, but they had a falling out. Most people did, with him." Quinn laid a gentle hand on the girl's back. She looked older, at least thirteen, older than Santana had ever seen her before. She had the same look about her that Quinn had when they were kids, the quiet intensity and subtle analyzing. Quinn was always smarter than many people gave her credit for, and Santana was sure that this little girl was no different. She had to be Quinn's little girl, right? When they were next to each other, it was almost unmistakable._

_They went through every single member of Glee Club, Quinn regaling tails with a smile on her face, the girl enthralled with her words. Still, her smile couldn't hide the hint of sadness, the one she and Brittany had always been able to catch, no matter how hard Quinn tried to hide it. Santana stepped forward until she was leaning over them, staring at the glossy pages as the girl flipped through them. Finally, she stopped. _

"_How about this girl? She was in the club, too, right?" She'd paused on a page covered in pictures of her. It didn't take long to realize that it was a memorial. Santana could practically feel Quinn's smile fall._

"_Well…" It was like Quinn was preparing herself, like the words just wouldn't come but she refused to leave her daughter's questions unanswered. Santana could sympathize. "Her name was Santana Lopez. We were best friends for a really long time, actually. It's hard to know what to say. She…there was a lot more to her than I could ever explain. She was always just Santana to me, but I think most people didn't really understand her." _

"_You did?" _

"_As well as she'd let me. She was always very private. It was a treat when she finally started letting me in." Quinn sighed, softly. For some reason, it made Santana's chest ache. "She was fiercely loyal and protective, and, in her own words, she was kind of a badass." The girl giggled slightly at the word, making Quinn smile ever so slightly. "All I can really think to say is that I loved her."_

"_I figured. I mean, I've seen you staring at this page more than a few times, and you always look so sad. I'm sorry that I made you talk about all this.." _

_Slowly, Quinn reached out and closed the yearbook as tenderly as she could. Her fingers lingered on the cover for a moment, eyes misted with the beginnings of tears, but she quickly blinked them away._

"_You don't have anything to apologize for. It's been a long time, Izzy."_

"_I'm just sorry that it makes you sad."_

"_You don't have to be sorry, sweetie. I'll be alright, I always have been." Quinn smiled softly at the girl, who responded just as warmly. "I'm gonna go start dinner, alright?" Izzy just nodded as Quinn disappeared into the other room. _

_For a long moment, there was just silence, the girl focusing intensely on the cover of the yearbook, and all Santana could do was stare. The girl's gaze shifted upwards, connecting with Santana's, sending a jolt of adrenaline straight through her. They hadn't been able to see her before, they weren't supposed to see her in dreams like this. They most definitely weren't supposed to make such extreme eye contact with her, especially not when she was supposedly dead. _

"_Santana, wake up." _

_It was less of a suggestion than it was a command._

* * *

The first thing Santana did was inhale, so suddenly that her lungs erupted with pain that was forced away with every subsequent breath. The second thing she did was open her eyes.

The tub was stained with crimson water, a startling contrast to the pale colors of the bathroom. Her hands were still submerged, but the water had gone cold, something that grew more and more obvious with every racing beat of her heart. Slowly, she pulled her hands from the water, staring down at her wrists.

There wasn't even a scratch. No scar, nothing.

Swallowing deeply, Santana wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or if she wanted to laugh. She'd found her answer. It didn't clear up everything, but it was a start. For now, she forced the burgeoning questions to the back of her mind, hands clenched into tight fists. She just wanted to focus on what this felt like, coming back.

The adrenaline made her shake all over, exacerbated by the fact that she was freezing. The room was registering with startling clarity, painful enough to make her want to shut her eyes tight, but she refused. She just focused on every breath and every heartbeat as the adrenaline slowly worked its way out of her system.

As it did, the nausea took over, and before she knew it she was hunched over the toilet, throwing up everything she had in her stomach. At least when it was done and she was haphazardly rinsing out her mouth, she felt somewhat normal again. It was like when she'd woken up after the accident. There was the same rush of adrenaline, the same debilitating clarity. At least she hadn't thrown up, but she figured it made sense.

After all, she'd just _died_. It seemed like that was supposed to be kind of traumatic. That it _was _kind of traumatic. Taking a deep breath, she flicked the lever on the tub, making the water drain out. The porcelain beneath it was stained, but it was nothing she couldn't clean. She hurried around, gathering supplies to take care of it before anyone came home. She didn't really have the energy to make up a lie to tell her parents. As she got to work scrubbing, she couldn't help but wonder if it was fucked up that she wasn't all that freaked out. It seemed like the thing to do, to panic, to cry, to do _something_.

Instead, all she felt was relief.

* * *

"You can't just quit, you're my head Cheerio!" Santana had figured that she was programmed to be afraid of Sue when she was this angry. Apparently, she wasn't, and she wasn't quite sure when she stopped caring about what Coach thought of her. She figured it was probably somewhere between when she died the first time and when she died the second time, but it wasn't like she could use that as an argument.

"Well, you're going to have to deal with it, because I'm quitting. Give my spot to Brittany, you know she's the best dancer you have left." Gently, Santana laid her uniform down on Sue's desk. "Don't bother trying to change my mind, and before you think anything's wrong with me, I just have more important things to deal with right now than cheerleading. I'm sorry, but I have to do this." It was true. There was no way she could keep up with school on top of Cheerios, Glee club, and her new job. Something had to be cut, and it was a surprisingly easy decision. One had Quinn and the other didn't, though she pretended like that wasn't a major factor.

Sue didn't even try to talk as Santana turned and left her office, navigating the halls towards her locker. Trying her best to ignore the confused stares everyone was giving her, she spun the code to her locker and popped it open, pretending she couldn't hear them whispering about her.

"How come you aren't in your uniform, San? Everyone's talking about it." Brittany's voice nearly made her jump. Still, she couldn't help but smile at her words. Leave it to Brittany to tell it like it is. "I think they think you're pregnant, too…"

"I'm not. I just have a lot going on right now." Brittany just looked confused. Okay, so maybe the decision was really out of character, but it was still her choice. She was trying to be a better person, everyone should have seen this coming. "I got a job, alright? I can't do Cheerios, school and Glee on top of a job, so I had to quit one."

"And you picked Cheerios?"

"Of course I did. I'm sick of taking Coach's shit, anyway." Finally, Brittany's face broke into a grin as she gave her a monster of a hug. Like usual, Santana was partly confused, but she just went along with it.

"I'm proud of you, San! And I'm glad you're still in Glee, it's more fun than Cheerios. They're gonna think you're having a breakdown or something weird."

"They can think whatever they want, B."

She didn't mention that maybe she might be having a little bit of a breakdown. It wasn't like in the movies, where she just cried uncontrollably and had lots of meaningless sex and bought tons of nice stuff. It just felt like things were breaking. Crumbling.

Glee Club didn't really seem to notice that, no one did, but they certainly noticed that she'd quit the Cheerios. As they walked into the choir room, all conversation practically stopped, everyone's attention focused solely on her. For the first time in a long time, she felt heat begin to rise to her cheeks, but she sure as hell was not gonna blush in front of the entire club. She'd worked hard to get rid of that particular reaction. As if on instinct, her eyes caught Quinn's as she and Brittany headed for two open seats in the back. She looked like she was staring at a ghost, eyes wide in what looked like disbelief. Santana exaggerated her eye-roll enough for them all to catch.

"Before you go off and gossip about it, I quit the Cheerios, and I did that because I wanted to. I'm not pregnant, Coach Sylvester didn't kick me off, I quit, and that's all you need to know." Santana plopped herself down in the seat, ignoring the whispers as Mr. Schue began his lesson, staring at her nails to avoid focusing, per usual.

She knew that at least Brittany and Quinn would ask questions, if the rest of the club didn't. They knew her better than anyone, as much as she often hated to admit it, and they were going to realize that something was really off. She didn't need a job. Her dad was a doctor, after all. On top of that, she'd quit Cheerios. If they hadn't realized it yet, they definitely would soon. It was like she acting the complete opposite of how she normally would, and the two blondes were the only ones brave enough to call her out on it.

It was time to come up with a lie, and fast. She couldn't tell anyone the real reason she'd gotten a job. Hell, she could barely admit it to herself, and she could barely believe that she was actually going through with it. No one would believe her if she said that she was just trying to make money to give to Quinn. They hated each other.

They were supposed to hate each other, anyway.

Brittany would get it, kind of, although she'd just attribute it to her still being in love with Quinn and leave it at that. She really didn't want to be subjected to another of the girl's painfully accurate lectures, as well meaning as they were. Honestly, she was sick of being told what she felt.

She wasn't in love with Quinn.

She wasn't.

And it didn't matter that all her dreams were about her.

All she could do was keep telling herself that and hope it all turned out for the best.

* * *

"_I'm afraid." _

_Quinn mumbled it so softly against her skin that she almost didn't hear it. _

"_Why?" _

_It was a stupid question, she knew why. She'd just graduated, and she was starting her new job next week. She'd be patrolling the streets. It wasn't like Seattle was a particularly dangerous city, but she understood. Much like her, it took a lot for Quinn to admit her weakness, so she understood. The last time she'd heard it like this, Quinn was moving back in with her mother, taking tiny little Isabelle with her._

"_I don't want you to die."_

"_I can't." _

"_We don't know that for sure." It was enough to shut Santana up."I just…I can't lose you, alright?" _

"_I promise I'll be careful." _

_Santana made of a habit of never promising, but she could make an exception. Especially when Quinn was clinging to her like she was going to walk out the door one morning and never come back._

"_I can't lose you." She repeated. Santana pressed a soft kiss to her forehead._

"_You won't."_


	3. Part Three

**The Fourth, The Fifth**

**Part Three**

An idea hit her on her way home from work one night.

It was just some stupid quarrel between younger kids, a group of boys obviously ganging up on another. She was just going to walk on past, her eyes glued to the ground like she wasn't seeing anything, but one of the boys shoved the loner hard enough to send him crashing down on the cement. It wasn't serious, his ego was bruised more than anything else, but she felt compelled to do something. It was time to trust her instincts, she'd decided, and there was no going back now.

"Hey!" It wasn't exactly smooth, but it was loud enough to command the group's attention and to silence their laughter. "Leave him alone." They just stared at her incredulously as the boy picked himself up off the ground.

"Why don't you just stay out of it?" One of the boys had the audacity to spit at her, and she almost punched him right there and then. It had been a long day, and her patience was already worn thin. Even though she was trying to be a better person, she wasn't above hitting some asshole kid.

"Listen you little fuckers, if you don't run along home I'll kick all your sorry asses and send you home to your mommies black and blue." Apparently, getting in their faces a little was all it took to get them to back down. The group quickly dispersed, leaving Santana alone with the boy.

"Thank you." His gratitude was written all over his face. It nearly hurt, but she smiled back, just a little.

"You're welcome."

It didn't hit her until she was nearly home, the cold night air biting at her through her sweatshirt. It was simple, but like always, once it passed through it stuck.

She could help people.

It started off as simple as that.

* * *

_Santana didn't let the tears break free until she had locked the front door behind her. It was incredibly quiet inside, almost alarmingly so, and it did nothing but make her cry harder. She was thankful that Isabelle was asleep, at least. She didn't want her little girl to see her like this, not now, not ever. She was the only thing disturbing the stillness of the apartment, her shoes making quiet thuds as she kicked them off and let her coat slide off her shoulders and to the floor. _

_Somehow, she managed to make it to her bed, where Quinn was already awake and alert. She must've heard her crying. Had she been that loud? She couldn't tell. Nothing seemed to be getting through. Not even when Quinn pulled her down on to the bed, gently stripping her down to her underwear and holding her close. _

"_Baby, what happened?"_

_Santana couldn't even find the words to express it, couldn't figure out a way to explain it that didn't sound horrifyingly detached. She opted instead for clinging to her, hoping, praying that she would start feeling again soon._

_For the next few days, all she felt was numbness._

_

* * *

_

Santana just couldn't get Quinn out of her head. It was like no matter what she was thinking, her mind always went in a giant loop back to her. It was like some six degrees of separation bullshit and she was getting a little sick of it. More because it kept getting her into trouble, and less because she didn't like thinking about Quinn.

She didn't know when it happened, again, but she really, really liked thinking about Quinn. Staring at her, studying every move and every smile, or, more often, the lack thereof. Quinn definitely caught her a few times, making warmth spread across her cheeks.

It was all some serious déjà vu, and she wasn't sure if she liked it.

She was watching Quinn again, reveling in it, when she noticed the look on her face. The way everything seemed to fall, her eyes overcome with sadness, anger, irritation. It usually only meant one thing.

Puck.

Of course, he had to be an asshole again, all about paying bills. Like that was their biggest issue, not that fact that he was a total douchebag that was treating Quinn like shit because _he_ got _her_ pregnant. Before she knew it, the anger was flaring again, and in a momentary lapse of judgment she stood and let loose.

"Puck, will you just shut the fuck up." Again, not smooth, but it got her point across well enough that she didn't really care. "Trust me, we're all sick and tired of listening to your whiny baby crap. If you're not gonna fucking help her out, then be a good boy and leave her alone. She doesn't owe you shit."

It took everything Santana had not to take a step backwards when Puck spun to face her, quickly getting in her face. This was escalating a lot faster than she'd expected.

"Well, I'm sick of you getting all up in my business, Lopez. Why don't you go annoy someone else, because I'm tired of listening to you be a bitch. Oh, I forgot, that's kind of just how you are."

"What the fuck-"

"Seriously, go suck another dick or something so I don't have to listen to you whine at me about stuff that's not your problem."

"Noah." Quinn's voice bit through them, but it didn't deter him one bit. His face was mere inches from Santana's now, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to stand. It had been a while since she'd actually been scared during a fight, and even longer since she'd admitted it. It didn't really stop her from provoking him. One of her vices, she supposed.

"Well, just so you know, I don't do that anymore. I guess that means no more 2 a.m. booty calls because all the chicks stopped putting out when they heard you got a girl pregnant. Sorry."

For a moment, they just stared at each other, like they were waiting for the other to back down even though she knew neither of them would. It still caught her off guard when he lunged, a right hook catching her on the cheek, sending her to the ground. To be honest, she wasn't expecting him to hit her that hard. She was easily half his size, it was just cruel. But still, the punch made her entire head erupt in pain, making it difficult to register that she was prone. The cold tile against her skin was the only thing helping her regain her senses, the pain behind her eyes slowly shifting from sharp to a dull ache.

She blinked rapidly, clearing her vision, enough to see that the boys had leapt to her aid. They had to physically prevent Puck from attacking her further, a fact that would've made her smirk if her head didn't hurt so badly. As bad as it was, irritating Puck was a disturbing amount of fun, and she couldn't help but he a little proud. Almost more inappropriate was that warmth that spread across her chest knowing that they had cared enough to put themselves in the middle of their fight.

Quinn was staring at her too, she quickly realized, a look that read a little like thankfulness and a lot like love.

She needed to get the girl out of her head, for her own good.

* * *

She wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for when she walked into the mall. All she knew was that she needed some sort of outfit, and that she had a wallet full of cash to spend. The quick and obvious conclusion was that she needed something that would hide her identity as much as possible. She didn't want anyone figuring out who she was. More than anything else, it would be awkward.

First she found the coat. It was simple, black with a zipper, snug enough that it didn't hang off of her but thick enough to conceal the fact that she was a girl. The pants were just as simple, black pants loose enough that she could move freely in them. A nice pair of black boots completed her clothing. They looked like they could take a beating, which was important.

The last thing she managed to find was the mask. It was nestled in with the clearance costume stuff, a remnant from Halloween. It wasn't like there was a whole lot to choose from, but it was black and would cover her entire head. She snagged a higher-end voice changer at the same store, just in case she ever wanted to talk.

As she was walking back to her car with her bags, she couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation was. She had just bought a fucking costume so she could fight crime, or do good, or whatever. Like some sort of goddamn superhero.

She was nothing like a superhero.

Okay, maybe like Batman. Or the Punisher.

She grinned.

* * *

Santana wasn't going to lie to herself, protecting people felt fantastic. In the two short weeks since she'd decided to actually go through with the vigilante idea, she found herself going out more and more often until she was wandering the streets every single night. Most of the time, she didn't run across anything she could actually do, but it was well worth it when she actually did.

It wasn't like she was stopping murders or anything like that, but the people were also so grateful. Grateful that there was someone looking out for them, even if they were hiding behind a mask. Maybe it was better, she could be whoever they wanted her to be. Who they needed her to be. She liked to think that she inspired hope, courage, but it was probably just her projecting. To be honest, she didn't really care.

It was nice not having to hide for a while. She could be whoever she felt like being, instead of upholding her stupid reputation every second. At night, she could just be herself. The new her, or the old her, she wasn't really sure how to define it.

It felt good, and she wasn't going to stop. Not when it was her only escape. For a few hours every night, she got to be who she wanted. Who she was.

For the first time she could remember, she could stare at herself in the mirror and feel proud.

* * *

_All she could think to do was cry. _

_She'd never felt so numb before, not even after the accident. Everything was passing by in a blur and all she wanted to do was stop. So she cried, and held on to Quinn like her life depended on it. If she let go, she would get lost, and she knew she'd never be able to find her way back._

_Not from this. _

"_It's not your fault, Ana, it's not your fault." Quinn just kept mumbling in her ear, and she couldn't tell if it was the sincerity in her words or all the crying that was making her sick to her stomach. "You'll be okay, _we'll _be okay. It's not your fault."_

'_How is this not my fault?' She wanted to scream back at her, but she couldn't find her voice. It had been missing since they'd left the hospital, hours ago. She refused to lose it in front of the doctors, she wouldn't be vulnerable in front of them just to get their pity and their empty words. Home was safer, but not safe. _

_She just felt so sick._

_There was no equivalent. It was worse than dying, worse than watching others die. Worse than being responsible for someone else's death. She was responsible for this death, too, but it was different than the others she'd seen die._

_It had been her kid, her baby boy._

_She sobbed harder against Quinn's shoulder, her fingers digging so deeply into her back that she knew it had to hurt. Quinn didn't mention it._

_

* * *

_

She's not really sure why, but she's compelled to walk through the park.

It's not exactly safe, she knows, since the sun had just dipped below the horizon and the park was the darkest place in Lima. She was having a difficult time caring about safety, anymore, which probably was a sign of something horribly wrong in her psyche. She was having a hard time caring about that, either.

Her outfit shielded her from the biting cold, but she couldn't help the shiver that shot down her spine as she wandered along the path towards the lake. Whether it was from cold or something else, she really didn't know, but she didn't turn back. The sound of her boots against the dirt was the only thing disturbing the eerie silence that hung over the park. Ducking past some large bushes, the lake came into view, and Santana couldn't help but smile behind the fabric at the way the moonlight reflected off the water.

That was when she noticed a figure sitting by the water's edge, hunched over. It became apparent that he was boy as she cautiously approached him, not much older than her. His arms were wrapped loosely around his knees. She nearly jumped when he spoke.

"It's gorgeous here, isn't it?" He didn't even bother to look back at her as he spoke, seemingly unafraid of the person coming up from the darkness behind him.

"Yeah, it is. I've never been here at night before." She still wasn't really used to the voice changer, and she flinched slightly at the way it made her sound. He still didn't seem alarmed, so she stepped forward, sitting down on the grass beside him.

The last thing she noticed was the gun clutched in his hands, glinting in the moonlight.

"I've always liked it here. It's nice to get away every once and a while, you know?" He was smiling, softly, sadly. It remaindered her too much of Quinn. "I like getting away from my life."

"Me, too, but you probably could've guessed." Santana was surprised at how at ease she sounded, despite the way adrenaline had already started coursing through her, making her heart race wildly in her chest. Thank god she sounded calm, because she definitely didn't feel it. She wasn't scared, not really, it was just the gun that put her on edge. He switched it to his left hand, extending his right out to her.

"I'm Kyle." They shook hands. It was weird how unthreatening he was, and it wasn't just because she knew she wouldn't die if he decided to open fire. He just seemed to benevolent it was hard to be scared. Scared of him, at least. "I know you're like a vigilante or whatever, so you can't tell me your real name. Can I get an alias, at least?"

"I don't really have one."

"Really? You can't just go around fighting crime, or whatever you do, without an alias. It's kind of lame."

"Yeah, I know. I haven't really been able to come up with anything."

"Well, what can you do? I mean, are you good at anything in particular? That kind of helps with picking a name."

"I can't die." She wasn't really sure why she was telling him this. It just seemed like the thing to do, so she did it. His only reaction was a soft laugh. "No, seriously, I can't."

"Wow, that's a pretty big claim to live up to. You must be pretty good." He obviously didn't believe her, but he humored her, and that was better than most people bothered to do. "I think I'd hate it, not being able to die. It's like the one thing you should be able to control."

"I hate it too, actually, but it's more about the actual dying part than anything else."

"What's it like?"

"It sucks. There's not really any other way to put it. Dying hurts, and it sucks waking up because I always feel sick afterwards. Most of the time I throw up, which is not very fun. It's just not a good experience in general."

He smiled slightly, grip tightening on the gun. Santana felt her muscles involuntarily twitch, at the ready just in case he made a move. He didn't.

"Are you here to try and stop me?" It was a simple question, but the way he asked it made Santana's heart ache. "I don't think you can, so you can stop trying if that's what you wanted to do."

"I didn't really have an agenda, I was just walking through the park, actually. I'm not psychic or anything."

"I just can't take it anymore, everything they say about me. I'm just…I'm done with it. It hurts too much now." His eyes were focused on the water, and she did the same.

"I know I can't stop you from doing what you want to do, but I promise it'll get better. You'll grow up, and they'll grow up. Things will change, it just takes time."

"I don't think I have time. And what would you know about it, anyway? You don't know how terrible it is just to go to school every day."

"You're right, I don't. I haven't been bullied, really." Santana took a deep breath, fingers pressing hard against the soil as she supported herself against the ground. "But, I used to be one of them. God, I was _so_ terrible to people, and I didn't really have a reason. It just made me feel better about myself, made me forget who I really was for a while. I loved it, for a long time. I loved the power it gave me. It was the only thing that made me feel good about myself. But, when I realized what I could do, I realized that I was meant to do so much more with my life than be an asshole to everybody."

Kyle was silent, either he didn't know what to say or he was waiting for her to continue. So she did.

"I go to school every day and I see the people that I hurt, how upset they look, and it makes me sick to my stomach. I know I can't take back what I did but I'm sure as hell trying to repent for it. Whoever's treating you like shit, I'm sure they'll either realize what they're doing and stop, or you'll graduate and get the hell out of this place, and you'll never have to see them again. Lima isn't the end, it's the beginning."

For a long moment, there was just silence. Kyle stared out at the water while she stared at him.

"You sound like a fucking golden-age superhero right now, not gonna lie." His grin made Santana let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Yeah, I know it came out corny as hell, but I meant it."

"I know you did."

Slowly, Kyle stood, putting the gun into the backpack strapped tightly to his back. Santana quickly followed him upright. He just smiled at her for a moment, before he started walking back towards the path, stopping and turning before he disappeared past the bushes.

"I'll come up with a name for you. I'm sure you'll hear it around."

With that, he turned and left.

* * *

Quinn looked sad. She always did, now.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Santana's touch is gentle on Quinn's arm, uncharacteristically so, as she can tell from the look on Quinn's face. They still hadn't gotten used to the fact that they were being civil, now, and she could tell that Quinn never quite knew what to say to her. She couldn't blame her.

"What is it?" Quinn was standing far too close to her, and for a moment, her point was lost in the faint smell of the pear perfume she knew Quinn loved. It reminded her so much of before, too much, of nights spent in Quinn's bed with her arms wrapped around her. They had never stopped to think what it actually _meant_.

She just missed when everything was simple. When Quinn and Brittany were the only two people that mattered, when it was easy to just _be_ with them, before it was so important that everything be tagged and categorized. She knew it was her own doing, but it didn't make the sense of longing dissipate one bit.

"This is for you." A moment of fumbling was all it took to find the envelope, its weight surprising between Santana's fingers. It was the fruit of her labor, the entirety of her first paycheck. Fear gripped her tightly as Quinn took the envelope from her hands, deftly opening it. It wasn't a good sign when she let out a quiet sigh, looking up to catch Santana's gaze. All she could do was stare and hope that she didn't look as terrified as she felt.

"Santana…" It sounded a lot like an apology waiting to happen, but Santana couldn't intercept it before it slipped out. "I can't take this from you."

"You have to." She was speaking too quickly, her words coming out clipped. It was more hostile than she intended, but Quinn didn't look offended. For once, she was thankful that the girl had some understanding of her. "I'm not taking it back. You have to keep it, it's a gift."

"You're working for this money and then handing it off to me. That's taking, not a gift." Of course. She should've known Quinn would be too proud to accept it without a fight. It was one of the things they had in common.

"You need help, don't pretend like you don't. I'm the only one offering, so just take it, okay?"

Quinn looked like she was about to cry. She really, really wanted to look away, but she couldn't. Instead, she blinked rapidly to avoid the tears she could feel beginning to burn in the corners of her eyes. Neither of them really knew what to say, Quinn holding the envelope and staring at Santana, and Santana staring right back. She couldn't figure out what it was, but something between them felt different. Like the walls were finally crumbling down at their feet. Still, she couldn't figure out how to speak, not even as Quinn mumbled a gentle thank you and started to walk away.

'_I got the job for you.'_ She wanted to say, to make Quinn stop in her tracks so she could bask in the smell of her perfume and the warmth of her gaze, but it was like her lips were glued together. Instead, she was forced to stand and stare until Quinn disappeared.

She just wanted her to stay.

* * *

If you run first, before the other person has a chance, it stops you from getting hurt. If you don't give yourself the time to get attached, to trust, there's no part of you that will be broken when they leave. And they always leave.

Santana had taught it to Quinn after her first boyfriend broke up with her, as they bonded over ice cream and awful movies. She'd laughed about it, made it sound like a joke, and it was enough to get Quinn to laugh through her tears with her. They both knew it wasn't a joke, even then, before Santana started leaving her trail of broken hearts.

She just wanted to go up to Quinn and tell her that it really didn't work after all, that she gives shit advice and she really should never listen to her. That all it did was leave a huge mess to be swept under the rug. Still, every time she managed to look her in the eye, she lost her words.

Quinn avoided her for a week.

* * *

_Quinn was holding her tightly when she asked, her front nearly indistinguishable from Santana's back._

"_Do you want to try again?"_

_Santana felt herself tense up, not of her own volition. It happened any time they even came close to talking about it. She'd healed, but there was really only so much of that wound that could heal. There were times when it felt more fresh, and she knew it was one of those times. Still, she didn't lash out and she didn't cry, which was a good sign._

"_I don't know." It was the honest answer. She wasn't sure she was ready, not even after a year and a half. Honestly, she wasn't sure she'd ever be ready. Not like before. The doctors had said there was a high chance of her miscarrying no matter what they did, something to do with her body. The ringing in her ears had been too loud for her to focus on their explanations. _

"_I was talking to Doctor Spencer and he was telling me about our different options. I told him that we thought it was important that we have a baby that was yours, since we already have Izzy, and he said that we could take one of your eggs and implant it in me. That way, we won't have to worry so much about anything like that happening again." Quinn's voice was barely a whisper, and she could feel her muscles beginning to relax. "I mean, we don't have to do it right now or soon, but I wanted you to know that I'm willing whenever you're ready."_

_Shakily, Santana let out a breath, before rolling over so she was facing Quinn. She pressed a kiss to her lips before settling with their foreheads pressed together. _

"_Okay."_

_

* * *

_

Santana really didn't know why she agreed to come. She was pretty certain it was just because Quinn had asked. Now they were sitting on her bed, talking, and talking was the last thing she wanted to do. She knew it was inevitable, but all it did was make her feel like shit.

Honestly, though, she'd been awful. She kind of deserved it.

"You're being really confusing. I mean, you act like you don't want anything to do with me, and then you stick up for me with Puck, and then you quit Cheerios and get a job and give all the money to me. You're being really hot and cold. I'm just trying to figure out where we stand right now."

"I don't know, alright? I don't know what I'm doing."

A silence fell between them, and for once, Quinn was the one staring into her lap.

"We need to talk about it. We never did then, and obviously we need to."

"What's there to talk about? We made out. We were drunk, it happens." Quinn didn't even try to look up at her, and she instantly wanted to double back on her words. To just tell her the truth. That it meant so much, it meant everything, but she couldn't deal with it. Couldn't deal with the fact that Quinn so much power over her. That she could break her without even trying. Destroy her completely.

It was terrifying, and she had panicked.

"I don't know what's up with you, Ana, but I want you to know I'm here. I've always been here." Quinn sounds so much closer to breaking than she'd anticipated. It forced her words out as a whisper.

"Don't call me that." Quinn ignored her.

"You just stopped wanting me." Quinn sounds so small, so hurt, and it made the ache in Santana's chest unbearable. It wasn't true, it never was, even if she'd tried to convince her otherwise.

"I didn't stop wanting you. I was scared, alright?"

"You're always scared."

* * *

Santana hadn't meant to walk in on their conversation, she really hadn't, but she couldn't help but slow her walk when she heard Puck viciously hiss her name from inside an empty classroom. Slowly, she pressed her back against the wall beside the doorway. With how loud Puck was talking, it wasn't hard to hear everything they were saying.

"I'm gonna ask again, what the_ hell_ is going on with you and Santana?" She could practically hear Quinn roll her eyes, and the thought made her grin ever so slightly.

"Nothing's going on between Santana and I."

"Well, Finn said that she keeps coming over and that you guys just lock yourself in your room for hours."

"First of all, she's come over twice, not all the time. And all we did was talk." Quinn sounded more irritated with him than she'd heard in a while. It was nice, she'd kind of missed Quinn's bitch mode. She could be pretty fierce when she wanted to be. "And even if there _was_ something between us, it would be none of your business."

Santana's heart leapt in her chest.

"What the fuck were you guys talking about for hours, then?"

"Again, it's none of your business."

"Well, you should stay away from her. She's a huge fucking bitch and I don't trust her. I know she's up to something."

"You don't own me, you can't tell me what to do. I'll talk to whoever I like, and you can deal with it. Now, please go and leave me alone."

Honestly, Santana was shocked that he actually listened to her, exiting from the doorway moments later. The look of idiotic surprise on his face when he spotted her was well worth the second punch to the face she was pretty certain she was going to receive. She smiled at him, full of false friendliness, and waved.

"Hello Noah." From the way he was glaring at her and how his hands balled into fists, she knew she had some sort of death wish. At least he didn't get all up in her face this time.

"Stay the _fuck_ away from her." He growled. Santana just continued to smile at him with contrived sweetness.

"No."

Sometime during their tense exchange, Quinn appeared in the doorway, gaze flicking from Puck to Santana and back again.

"I already asked you to leave. So go, please." She'd calmed down from their earlier exchange, but she still looked as tired as she'd sounded. Puck just stared at her for a moment, eyes narrowed, before he mumbled something under his breath and stalked off. Quinn relaxed the moment he was out of sight, and Santana pushed her weight off the wall.

"You really shouldn't antagonize him like that. He's hard enough to deal with." Quinn was staring at her with the same intensity as always, forcing her gaze down to the floor for a moment before she's willing to brave it again.

"Sorry. He's making it easy." Santana's breath hitched as Quinn gently touched the spot on her cheekbone that a glaring cut and dark bruise had adorned a few months before. She could feel herself beginning to blush the moment Quinn looked her in eyes again.

"I know, I just don't want you getting hurt again." Almost as quickly as her touch came, it was gone. Santana felt her body relax, but that didn't mean she didn't want it.

"I know."

They were silent, just staring at each other, before Quinn turned to walk away. It was so much like when she'd given Quinn the money that it was nearly crippling, and she felt the need to say something to get her to stop. Anything.

"I don't care." It was so sudden that it made Quinn stop, turning faster than Santana had anticipated. She could feel herself wanting to stumble over her words, the way she always did when Quinn focused on her like that. Like she was the only person in the world. It had the power to lift her up and crush her at the same time. "I'd do it over and over, for you."

"Do what?" It felt a lot like a test that she didn't know the answer to. She didn't really know what to say.

"Get hurt. Take his crap. I don't know, anything."

Quinn just stared, but Santana swore she could see the beginnings of a smile on her lips.

* * *

_It seemed so natural to find Quinn at the piano. The song she was lazily playing sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite think of it. Slowly, she walked up behind Quinn, who didn't seem surprised at all when she pressed a kiss to her shoulder. _

"_Hey, baby." Quinn turned before she could pull her head away, capturing her lips in a kiss as equally languid as her playing had been moments before. _

"_What were you playing?" She mumbled the question against Quinn's lips, prompting her to pull her down onto the bench beside her. _

"_It's one of my favorite songs. I play it all the time." _

"_I'm super attentive, I promise." Quinn just laughed, light and airy, before grabbing her hands and placing them over keys. _

"_Here, I'll show you how to play it." Santana didn't have time to resist before Quinn was showing her fingers where to go, smiling all the while. Not to mention laughing at her failures, much to her dismay. _

"_Hey! You've been playing piano since you were like, in the womb, so it's not fair to laugh at me." Quinn pressed a finger against her lips, silencing her. _

"_I'm only laughing because you're cute." Before she managed to open her mouth, Quinn continued. "Yeah, yeah, and I know you did violin instead of piano and now it doesn't make sense. I'm not gonna force you to play if you don't want to." _

_Santana reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind Quinn's ear before kissing her on the cheek. _

"_Play it for me." _

_All she could do was stare as Quinn's fingers flitted across the keys with grace, like it was a well-practiced dance. She realized it probably was, more muscle memory than anything else, her voice just as beautiful as it ever was. Like always, her heart didn't fail to race in her chest as her eyes traced a path from Quinn's fingers to her lips. She formed her words with passion, the way she always had. It was breathtaking._

"_You saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you…" Gently, Santana scooted closer, reaching out to lightly cup her cheek. It forced her eyes open, and she had the same look that she'd had the first night they'd slept together. "She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne, she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the hallelujah…"_

_Santana surged forward, pressing her lips against Quinn's. She never finished the song._


	4. Part Four

**The Fourth, The Fifth**

**Part Four**

She was shaking uncontrollably by the time Quinn answered the door. Without a word, Santana slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. Quinn looked completely confused, both as to why she was just showing up at Finn's house at midnight on a school-night and why she seemed so nervous.

Really, shouldn't she have figured it out by now?

"Santana, what's—" She was cut off by Santana surging forward, kissing her fully on the lips. It was full of passion, need, everything Santana wanted to say but just couldn't. It was her hopes, her dreams, everything she wished for.

It wasn't much more than a peck, but it _felt _like so much more.

Santana pulled away almost as quickly as she leaned in, leaving her mere inches away from Quinn's face, breath warm against her face. She was trying to gauge her reaction, trying to figure out what to say. What do you say after something like that, really? Before she could make any sort of plan, Quinn closed the gap, pressing her lips against hers again. It was slow, cautious, at first.

And then they were kissing all over and it was like they were fifteen again, drunk and stumbling up the stairs.

Somehow, they managed to make it up to Quinn's room without an incident, barely removing themselves from one another long enough to breathe. It was completely amazing and overwhelming and Santana was having a really difficult time focusing on anything when Quinn dug her fingers into her hip and kissed her like _that_.

They had been kissing up against her door for a good ten minutes before Quinn finally pulled away, her lips swollen and her flush spreading all the way to her chest. She was sure that she looked no different, and it was really, really difficult to breathe with Quinn pressed up against her like that. All she wanted to do was kiss her again.

"What does this mean?" It's the question she didn't get to ask the first time, not before Santana sealed herself off completely. Santana figures that she should have an answer by now, but she really doesn't.

"I don't know. I really wasn't planning on this to happen."

"You weren't?" Quinn looked adorable, and she could feel her heart skip a beat. "But you pushed your way in and kissed me. That's kind of planned."

"I think I came over here to talk, but I ended up kissing you instead. I'm not that great with words." Quinn's hands were still on her waist, clutching slightly, like she was afraid Santana would bolt at any second. She swallowed, hard, pushing back any feelings threatening to bubble forward. "What do you want this to mean?"

"That's not really an answer."

"I don't really have one. I just wanted to kiss you." Santana caught her gaze, and she looked different than she'd seen in a long time. Hopeful. Happy, almost. "I'm sorry."

She added it on because it seemed like the right thing to say. Because she felt it deep down in her gut, always, eating away at her, and she'd never said it before. Not like she needed to, to make things okay between them. So, she looked Quinn straight in the eyes and she said it, and she could tell that they both knew it was so much more than an apology for not having an answer.

It was not without hesitation, but Quinn smiled and kissed her again.

* * *

"_You split from your investors?" This was not the conversation Santana had been expecting to have when her son called and asked her to come over for dinner. She'd been expecting to meet a girlfriend, or to get asked a question he wasn't comfortable asking Quinn, but not this._

"_Yeah. They weren't really doing what I want to do with this whole thing." Gabriel set down a beer in front of her, his clutched in his other hand. _

"_What, they weren't taking it big enough for you?" She was joking around, but it barely drew a smile from him. It was actually serious._

"_Actually, they were taking it too big. They wanted to sell it to the military in bulk as soon as we started production, when I explicitly told them that I want it to be exclusively available to cops for at least five years before it gets expanded. They wouldn't budge when I told them no, so I pulled out."_

"_That would make you a shit ton of money, you know."_

"_Yeah, I know, but you know it isn't about the money. None of this has ever been about the money." _

"_What is it about, then?" _

"_I don't like the way they did business. I couldn't shake the feeling that they were doing things and purposefully not telling me, like they had something to hide. I felt like I couldn't trust them, and it turns out I couldn't. I'm not gonna keep things quiet when they were trying to go against what I wanted on purpose, especially not over something like money." He sighed, a little with frustration and exhaustion._

_Santana nodded, making a slight noise of agreement, content to sip on her beer instead of talking. Silence overcame them until Gabriel figured out what he wanted to say next. _

"_This nation was founded on one principle above all else: The requirement that we stand up for what we believe, no matter what the odds or consequences. When the mob and the press and the whole _world_ tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth and tell the whole world 'No, _you_ move.'" _

_It took her a moment, but Santana recognized it. It was a line from the comic book she'd given him, all those years ago, the one she'd said had been one of her favorites. Her heart swelled with pride faster than she could contain it._

"_I just wanna help people, you know? I don't care about the money. These aren't even designed for the military, it would be a waste. Maybe I'll design a version for them, but this one is just for cops. Families shouldn't have to worry so much, especially not when they're out trying to help people, too."_

* * *

"She's so tiny." Santana couldn't help the smile that was nearly splitting her face in two. She didn't care that Quinn was grinning at her like an idiot, a tired idiot, the way she always did when she thought Santana was doing something far too cute for her image. She didn't even care that Finn had called her at four in the morning, speaking so fast that she was worried he might pass out. It felt like things were finally falling into place, as she cradled the sleeping infant tightly against her chest. Like, for the first time, her dreams and her real life seemed to connect, fully connect. Like everything was going to work out.

She couldn't stop fucking smiling, and she just didn't care.

"Yeah, she is." Gently, Quinn reached out, grabbing her side and pulling her down into the chair next to the hospital bed. "I guess I could've done worse than Puck in the looks department. She's beautiful."

"She's gonna be quite the heartbreaker, kind of like her mom." Quinn playfully scoffed, and Santana just grinned back at her.

"Excuse me? I'm not the heartbreaker in this room."

"Touche."

Their conversation drifted off, Santana relaxing comfortably in the chair with the baby in her arms and Quinn's hand covering hers. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so at ease. Like all her problems were just so far away. It was nice, and she couldn't help but enjoy it.

"What do you think you're going to name her?"

For a moment, Quinn just stared at her baby, before reaching out to lightly touch her head. She didn't stir.

"I was thinking Isabelle. It was my grandma's name."

Santana swallowed painfully, trying to hold back the tears. She didn't want to have to explain why she was crying over a baby that wasn't even hers.

"I think it's perfect."

* * *

Puck disappeared after Isabelle was born. No one seemed to have any idea where he went, he just said that he needed to leave and took off. By the time he came back, Quinn had moved out of Finn's and back in with her mother, taking Isabelle with her. She wasn't there when Finn had to deal with Puck passed out on his front steps, looking like he hadn't slept at all since he'd left, a half-healed black eye the same color as the bags beneath his eyes adorning his face.

Santana would be lying if she said she wasn't really disappointed that he actually came back.

* * *

"Stay."

She said it with such insistence that it commanded Santana's attention completely. Gently, Quinn grabbed her hand, pulling her flush against her. A shiver traveled up her spine when Quinn's hands settled on her lower back. She repeated herself, quietly, with much less confidence and more fear.

"Stay."

What she wanted to say was _'please don't leave me again,'_ Santana could practically see it in her eyes.

"Okay." She breathed it out, watching the fear etched all over Quinn's face melt away. Slowly, Quinn pushed her backwards until her legs hit the bed.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

All it took was a gentle push to send her back against the bed, Quinn lowering herself down on top of her until they were pressed together. Santana couldn't resist the temptation to press her lips against hers, less about lust and more about need. Want. It was what Quinn had wished for all along, she wanted Santana to want her back. She wished that it was easy to say that she'd always wanted her, even then, but she settled for hoping that Quinn understood. It felt like she did.

Their kiss was languid, dragging on for ages, but Santana never wanted it to end. Her entire body was on fire, ignited by every touch and every little whimper Quinn made into her mouth.

Santana traced her hand up Quinn's thigh, finding a spot where her shirt had ridden up and clinging to it. In turn, Quinn pulled her lower lip between her teeth and she arched up against her, straddling one of her legs. She dragged a hand down Santana's side, slipping beneath her shirt and dragging her nails across her skin, light enough to tease. Beside herself, Santana gasped at the feeling, breaking their kiss. Quinn pressed kisses down her jaw and neck, finding a particularly sensitive spot and biting down on it.

Santana could feel herself starting to lose control as heat grew steadily low in her belly. She was making all kinds of noises that she would normally be ashamed of, but she just didn't care, not when Quinn was slowly lifting up her shirt and sucking on her neck.

"Fuck." She arched off the bed again, leaving enough room for Quinn to pull her shirt off. "Let me touch you." Honestly, she was a little surprised that Quinn listened, pulling away just long enough to strip off her top and throw it aside. As if on instinct, her arms returned to cover herself, and in an impressive move Santana managed to flip them over, pinning Quinn beneath her.

"You're so beautiful, I can't take it." She punctuated it with a kiss, before trailing hot, open mouthed kisses across her collarbone. Quinn rewarded her by digging her nails into her back.

It was completely overwhelming, and Santana didn't know what to think. She could barely remember how with her fingers tracing the waistband of Quinn's jeans, resulting in a gasp that shot heat straight to her core. It was muddling all of her senses, making everything hazy and startlingly clear at the same time, and she loved it. Suddenly, Quinn surged forward, one hand around Santana and the other preventing her hand from moving away.

"I want you to touch me." It was easily the sexiest thing Santana had ever heard. "Please."

It seemed foreign to find herself shaking out of nervousness as she struggled to unbutton Quinn's jeans. Quinn seemed perfectly content to kiss the column of her neck as she fumbled with them, finally managing to get them undone and off of her. It was impossible not to stare as she collapsed back against the pillows at the first touch, a tiny, needy whimper pushing its way past her lips.

She was quiet, all breathy moans and soft panting and dirty, dirty things whispered into Santana's ear. She didn't even know that Quinn _knew _words like that, and she felt absolutely helpless against her. All she could do was watch and move her fingers that much faster, making the moans she found so unbearably hot increase with them.

Santana pressed herself against Quinn, unable to resist claiming her lips once more, feeling every shiver beneath her. She was a little bit proud of herself, that _she_ was the one doing this to her, making her completely lose herself under her touch. It was intoxicating.

As she came, Quinn surged forward, trapping her hand between them and letting out the longest and sexiest moan she'd ever heard. Santana took advantage of her parted lips, and Quinn kissed her back with just as much fervor. Like she needed her to be as close as possible. She didn't stop lazily moving her fingers until Quinn pulled away from her with a giggle.

"Stop! I can't take any more right now." She was out of breath and blushing and it was so, so hot. Santana grinned in return and wrapped her arms around Quinn's waist.

"I can't stop touching you." Quinn arched up against her in response, softly brushing Santana's nose with her own.

"Well, maybe I want to touch you." She gave her a look that succeeded in making her tremble in longing and anticipation, and for the millionth time that night, Santana couldn't help herself.

"Do it, then." Her heart was racing out of control, not helped in the least by the way Quinn reached around and unhooked her bra, discarding it. As always, her touch was light, teasing, tracing patterns and lines across her sides and down her chest. Santana could feel herself shake, again, and she was powerless to resist gasping the moment Quinn thumbed over her nipple.

"Fuck…fuck!" Quinn sunk her teeth into her shoulder at the same moment that her hand trailed down her abdomen, working its way into her pants. It seemed like far too long before she finally touched her, she needed it too much to be kept waiting like that, and she squeezed her eyes shut. It was impossible not to roll her hips into Quinn's hand, much to the blonde's amusement, who seemed to be spending half the time watching her expressions and half the time passionately kissing her. It was unbearably hot and intimate and she'd never, ever felt this way. Not with anyone.

"I've wanted to do this since we were fifteen…" Quinn's voice was husky, and she accented the whisper by nibbling on Santana's earlobe. It was at that point that Santana completely lost herself, lost track of what she was doing and what she was saying. She was nearly certain that she was moaning things like _'harder'_ and _'oh fuck yes'_ far too loud, but she never stopped her.

"Say my name." Quinn's fingers were moving faster and Santana could feel white-hot heat spreading from her belly to her spine, so she moaned Quinn's name right before she came undone. She didn't even care that she'd lost it embarrassingly fast. It didn't seem to matter as she rode out her orgasm with Quinn's lips pressed insistently against hers. Finally, she pulled away, collapsing on the bed next to her.

"Fuck…" She was panting, trying to regain her breath, and Quinn was just watching her with a small smirk.

"Are you always that talkative in bed?"

"Shut up, Fabray." She was still breathless and it came out sound less than threatening, but she really didn't care. After all, she was nearly naked in bed with a far more naked Quinn Fabray, and she'd just had the best orgasm of her life. She really couldn't complain about anything.

"How about in Spanish, next time?"

"If you do that again, I'll say anything you want." Quinn rolled onto her side, throwing an arm across Santana's waist and pulling her in until they were spooning. It didn't take much work to get the covers out from under them and on top of them, to keep their rapidly-cooling bodies from getting cold.

"I'm going to hold you to that, you know."

"I hope you do."

They were silent for a while, long enough that their breathing evened out, so much so that Santana wasn't sure if Quinn had fallen asleep or not. She was warm against Santana's back, her hand sprawled out on her stomach, keeping them close. It was nice, to be held. It made her feel safe, protected.

"I love you."

Santana didn't realize she'd said it out loud until she felt Quinn stiffen behind her. Immediately panicking, she tried to come up with a way to play it off like she didn't mean it, which was surprisingly hard because she realized that she absolutely _did_ mean it.

"Shh." Quinn gripped at her stomach, like she was trying to hold her there even though Santana wasn't trying to leave. "I've wanted you to say that since we were fifteen, too."

After that night, Santana's costume started to collect dust.

* * *

_It was one of those dreams, one where she could actually talk to Isabelle as herself. _

"_Are these dreams ever going to stop?"_

_Isabelle shrugged. _

"_They'll stop when you don't need them anymore."_

* * *

It was simple.

All she'd done was wake up in the morning and take a deep breath to clear away the grogginess, like she did every morning, reveling in the feeling of Quinn pressed warmly up against her. It didn't take long for her to notice the lightness in her chest, the way everything seemed to be going just right.

There were no burning questions, no answers left unspoken. There was no frustration or irritation. There was no anger. She was completely and utterly at peace.

All it had taken to let go was to go to sleep.

* * *

The sliding door opening released the muffled laughter from inside, noisy over the thudding bass. Santana didn't bother to turn and face the presence behind her, she already knew who it was. Instead, she pulled smoke through the filter and into her mouth, slowly exhaling before breaking the silence.

"You want a cigarette?"

"No." Puck sounded weird, raw. It was enough to make Santana uproot her feet from where they'd been settled for minutes and turn to face him. He was only a few feet away, somehow closer than she expected, deep purple bags hauntingly evident even in the glow of the shitty porch light.

"Have you been crying?" Even though Quinn had asked her not to, she couldn't resist. He had always been an easy target. Much to her dismay, she didn't even get a rise out of him. Nothing. He didn't even move towards her, or try to get in her face. By now he would usually be flaunting his size and his masculinity. Instead, he did something she absolutely did not expect.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He just seemed so exasperated, like he truly didn't understand. Like she was really out to get him.

"I'm not doing anything to you."

"Yes you are! You took my kid away from me!"

"No, I didn't. You didn't step up to help Quinn, and I did. You made a mistake, and that's _your _fault. Don't blame me just because you can't deal with that."

"Fuck you, Lopez. You've always been a fucking bitch, that's not gonna change." There was the Puck that she was so familiar with. He took a step forward, but he wasn't quite invading her personal space. "What will happen to them when you get bored and leave?"

"That won't happen."

"Fucking bullshit, and you know it. You're just a slut who likes a challenge." Santana clenched her fists, nails digging half-moon shapes into her palms. She wanted to slap him, punch him, anything, but she wasn't stupid enough to try and pick a fight with him. She knew he'd match her aggression in an instant, and he'd win. "Quinn doesn't even like girls, you're just her fucking sugar-daddy!"

"First of all, Quinn and I have been best friends since first grade. I think I know her better than you do. The first time we made out, which was totally fucking hot by the way, was a year before she made the drunken mistake of sleeping with you. So, actually, I think that means she doesn't like _you_." Apparently, she was still stupid enough to insult him. He curled his hands into fists, much like her own, but he still didn't attack her. He wanted something. If it was an apology, he sure as hell wasn't going to get it. "Secondly, I'm not going to leave them. I fought hard for this, harder than you've ever fought for anything in your life."

"People don't change. You're never going to be more than a selfish bitch."

"You're right, Puck, they don't change. I tried, and I couldn't. I tried so hard to be that perfect, popular girl. I tried to manipulate everything by being what McKinley wanted me to be, and it fooled you. It fooled everyone, until I got sick of keeping it up. I've been going back to how I used to be, before we really knew each other."

"You think you're fucking clever? I can see right through your bullshit, and I'll make sure that everyone else sees it, too!"

"You just need to accept that this is who I am, and I'm here to stay. I won't back down no matter what you do."

"Why don't you just leave Quinn and Isabelle out of your stupid fucking game or whatever the fuck this is?"

"It's not a fucking game, it's my life, and all I have to say to you is 'no.'" The severity of her answer seemed to put him off a bit, and he faltered. It was like he expected her to break just because he was yelling. He took a few steps forward, getting in her face, like that was going to help. "There's no fucking way I'm leaving, I love them way too much. So why don't _you_ back the fuck off while you deal with it."

"No, you're gonna back the fuck off and give me my family back!"

"They're not your fucking family!"

Suddenly, Puck's hands were clenched around her neck and her back hit the wood of the deck with a painful thud. She scratched and punched, trying furiously to get him off of her, but it didn't seem to deter him.

"Isabelle won't remember you in a year." He hissed it in her face, tightening his grip that much more. Santana struggled until she just didn't have the energy. She was surprised at how long it took to lose the energy to fight back, leaving her unable to struggle. All she wanted was air back in her lungs, but there was nothing she could do.

It felt like forever, trapped between his solid body and the deck, feeling her life slowly drain out of her. It was different than any time before, more violent, and she couldn't help but feel uncomfortably vulnerable. Nothing was more unsettling than the fact that she was going to die with Puck's crazed look burned behind her eyelids, like it was going to be there forever, staring back at her every time she closed her eyes.

She really didn't want Quinn to see her like that. Dead.

As everything went black, she figured she didn't have a choice.

* * *

_Santana was acquainted with the ground far too quickly for her liking, the pain blooming like poison from her shoulder until it's overwhelming. No matter how many times it happened, she never got used to the feeling of being shot, never, and all she could do was focus on the searing pain as her blood leaked out onto the pavement beneath her. Everything was muffled, the sound of more shots fired, the yelling, the sirens. It seemed like only seconds later when she was hauled onto a stretcher and loaded into the back of an ambulance. _

_The sound of incoherent babble between the EMT's and the distant roar of the engine nearly distracted her from the fact that she was bleeding out all over the stretcher. She could feel it, hot and sticky against her skin, soaking her clothes. _

_She was dying, and all she could think about was how mad Quinn would be that she broke her promise._

* * *

Suddenly, air was flowing back into her lungs and she was gasping and coughing beyond her control. Her eyes flew open, discovering Quinn's face where Puck's had been just moments earlier. The weight had been lifted from her completely, freeing her throat and her lungs, and all she could do was stare.

Quinn's lips were moving, but she couldn't quite hear her over her own ragged breaths and the loud ringing in her ears. Still, she could imagine what she was saying, concern etched all over her face.

"_You're so stupid, you know that? You always get yourself into trouble." _

"I'd do it over and over, for you."

Her voice sounded terrible and it hurt like hell to speak, but it didn't seem to matter. Not when Quinn was gripping at her hand, again, like she was afraid she would disappear.

* * *

"So, it was true?" Quinn sounded like she was close to fumbling her words, a rare occasion. Santana just nodded from her spot on the couch, Isabelle curled tightly against her chest.

"Yeah. I'm not actually that crazy. Who knew?" Her joke didn't really seem to take Quinn off the edge she'd been on since the night Puck attacked her, and she silently sank down on the couch at Santana's feet.

"Finn saw it. He just went into the kitchen to get another drink and then he started yelling for help as loud as he could and we all followed him out onto the deck. He couldn't get Puck to let go of you, all the guys had to help." She sounded like she was going to cry, and Santana extended a hand. "I was so scared…I just, Puck was acting crazy and I didn't know what to do. I thought you weren't going to wake up."

"But I did. And I'm here to stay. Turns out I'm the hardest fucking bitch to get rid of, so you lucked out." Finally, a smile.

"I can't believe you were actually telling the truth."

"You thought I lied?"

"I thought you were having some weird PTSD episode, I didn't take it seriously except to get worried about your wellbeing."

"You worry about me far too much." Quinn looked like she was going to respond, but Santana cut her off. "It's cute."

"I still think you should've let us call the cops."

"No way in hell. I can play off 'staying home until I heal' with New Directions, but definitely not the cops. Plus, I don't think Puck's gonna come back after that. He thinks he killed me." Quinn had told her that Puck had run off before she'd woken up, almost as soon as he'd realized what he'd done. She was thankful, because even though she couldn't die, she really didn't want to have another run-in with him any time soon.

"This is all so weird."

"What, exactly?"

"Everything. I mean, you can't say you expected _any_ of this to happen." It was true. She'd gotten in a car accident, figured out she couldn't die, become a vigilante and gotten choked to death by Puck. On top of that, she and Quinn had gone from best friends, to not talking, to kind of talking, to dating. She could honestly say that all of it had come completely out of left field.

"Well, at least all this crazy shit made me finally pull my head out of my ass." Quinn finally seemed to relax, at least a little, taking a normal breath for the first time in days.

"I love you." She said it like it was the only thing that mattered. Santana figured it kind of was.

"I love you, too."

* * *

It was like she blinked and it was the end of their senior year. Everything had happened so fast. School, Glee, her home life. Even little Isabelle seemed to be getting bigger so quickly, even though she saw her pretty much every day. And Quinn, of course. Still, it was like everything went by too fast and too slow at the same time. She wanted to be out on her own with Quinn and Isabelle, but she was going to miss everyone. Even Rachel, no matter how reluctant their friendship had been.

As she crossed the stage and received her diploma, all she could feel was a mixture of excitement and pride. It marked both an end and a beginning, and there was so much ahead of her. She knew it, and she could hardly wait.

* * *

The acceptance letters were strewn across the table, Quinn's name emblazed across each envelope, the crests of each school standing out like they were in neon lights. NYU, UCLA, University of Washington and University of Chicago. She'd applied all over the country, anywhere but Ohio, and Quinn's fantastic honor-roll grades and list of award-winning extracurricular activities really paid off. Santana couldn't help but be proud.

"What are you thinking?" Santana couldn't help but ask, since Quinn had just been staring at the envelopes for the better part of ten minutes.

"Honestly? I have no idea which one to pick."

"Well, just weigh the pros and cons of each. Like, not just for the school but the city and stuff. We want it to be safe for Isabelle, and I have to be able to get a job. You know, practical stuff." Quinn nodded, thumbing through each of the letters for the millionth time. She walked over and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"I need to think about it more. I'll keep you posted, though."

"You better."

* * *

Quinn took right up to the deadline to make her decision, although Santana had a feeling that she already knew where they would be headed. They were curled beneath the covers when she suddenly spoke.

"I accepted at the University of Washington for winter quarter." Santana couldn't help but grin, not that Quinn could see it in the dark. "Seattle is relatively safe, when I googled it they were looking for people for the police academy, it's not as expensive as the other cities, and they offered me the most financial aid. It just makes sense."

She paused, to breathe, and it seemed a lot like she was worried Santana would be upset. Honestly, she worried way too much when it came to her.

"It does. I wasn't gonna say anything, but I was hoping you'd pick UW. I'd follow you anywhere, though."

It was weird to think that not long before she would've cut and run at the thought of being so attached to someone, especially Quinn. She never would've let herself be vulnerable enough, and she never would've admitted it if she was. It was amazing how much a person could change in such a short time. Back then, she'd always thought that death, like life, was promised by nature. She tried not to be conceited enough to think that she, more than anyone else, was meant for better things. Whatever it was, she was thankful.

"So, we're going to Seattle?"

"Yeah, we are."

**FIN**


End file.
